Three Thousand Miles
by LSquared80
Summary: Ted knows the distance he put between himself and Peggy isn't making life any easier, and Peggy struggles to move forward with her life in New York.
1. Chapter 1

Three Thousand Miles  
By Laura

**I.**

If she would talk to him on the phone he would say _I haven't even been to the beach._

Ted would say _Merry Christmas_ and then he would tell Peggy _I haven't even been to the beach because it would make me think about Hawaii._

He would tell her how every time he walks into his office he thinks he's in the wrong place. _It looks like it belongs to a different man,_ Ted would say, and it always feels too empty and too quiet. He is always staring at the door and it's never the right person knocking. He hates his office but he rarely goes home because it feels even more unfamiliar.

Ted wouldn't tell her that. He wouldn't tell Peggy how few dinners he has been home for in the last month or how many nights he has slept on the sofa or about the time he almost concocted a lie that the agency already needed him back in New York for a few days. How Nan keeps asking if he's sure he feels okay – he's pale, perpetually pinching the bridge of his nose.

_This is what three thousand miles looks like._

x

The elevator carries Peggy up to the SC&P offices so slowly, as if in protest of being used on Christmas day. She uses her key to let herself in the glass doors. She is always determined to make it to her office without looking at the closed door with Ted's name on it, and Peggy always fails. She stops, jiggles the knob, and is not surprised (but still disappointed) to find it locked.

Peggy shuffles toward her office and turns the light on. She rolls her eyes at the mess Stan left – tipped over paper cup on the table, rings of coffee stains on the typed copy she gave him for Avon. She notices he didn't leave any art for her to review.

She throws her coat and purse on the chair. Peggy looks from her desk to the table and settles herself on the sofa, stretching her legs across the cushions.

x

Ted stares at the ceiling and wonders if it's snowing in New York. He knows what his next thought will be and sits up from the sofa, stamping his feet on the floor. He takes a deep breath and sits behind his desk. He told Nan he had to leave the house after the boys opened their presents because it was imperative he determine how many freelancers they could hire before the year came to an end. It's not a lie but Ted can't bring himself to look through the portfolios on his desk or make sense of the branch's budget.

He reaches under the paperwork on his desk for a notebook, opening it to the page where he scribbled some of his own ideas for Sunkist. Ted shakes his head; they are mostly rip-offs of Peggy's Ocean Spray work.

He reaches across his desk for the rolodex. Ted flips through the cards until he finds the one he wants. He knows Peggy is probably with her family, and he hopes she is, but a part of him knows she is working. And every part of him wants to hear her voice.

Ted dials the numbers and his hand sweats around the receiver. It rings once, twice, and then he hears a click and a pause. A confused, "Hello?"

His breath seizes in his chest. All of the words he wants to say pile up in his throat and press on his tongue.

x

Peggy clears her throat. "Hello?" She doesn't know who would have her direct number except for her mother, but just as soon as she asks, "Ma?" she knows.

Her chest aches. She can hear him breathing and she feels it tickle her ear. It makes her remember his mouth on her neck and Peggy swallows against a sour taste in her mouth. She can hear herself say so many things – _I hate you, You're a weak man, Leave me alone._

Peggy sits in her chair, resting her elbow on her desk. She sighs and her hand hovers over the phone, ready to kill the call at any moment, just as soon as she's ready.

x

The sun through the windows is blinding and Ted tilts his head down, closes his eyes. He listens to her breathe, hears a heavy sigh. After a while the line goes silent, there's a click and then a droning buzz. He keeps the phone to his ear long after she's ended the call.

Ted hangs up and feels around the desk for his keys. He is almost out the door when the phone rings. He bangs his foot into the side of his desk in his frantic effort to answer before the second chime. "Hello?" he answers, breathless, hopeful.

"You sound like you're working too hard."

"Nan."

"How much longer? The boys want you to help put the-"

Ted says, "I'm leaving now," as he sits back down in his chair.

"Oh, good. Okay. We'll see you soon."

Ted hangs up and props his elbows on the desk, pinches the bridge of his nose. He thinks about what he told Peggy a month ago – how he had to stay close to his family. He has never felt so far away from Nan and the boys.

He has left so much of himself in New York.


	2. Chapter 2

**II. **

Peggy steps off the elevator, ready to close out the week, and sours at the red hearts taped all over the doors and windows. She breezes past Phyllis with a mumbled greeting and shuts herself in her office.

She is still wearing her coat and still holding her purse when she methodically rips every single heart and silhouette of Cupid from the walls. Peggy kneels on the couch to reach the decorations on that wall and rips a heart in half. One side remains stuck under a stubborn piece of tape and she picks at it, chipping her nail in the process.

x

There is a note on his desk when he arrives that Nan's flowers have been ordered for a mid-morning delivery to the house. Ted crumples the paper in his hand and discards it in the trash can under his desk.

He startles at the knock on his door. Ted clears his throat and says, "It's open."

Pete leans against the doorframe for a moment before letting himself in. "Good morning," he says. "Big plans tonight?"

Ted shakes his head. He looks at the calendar on his desk. The only thing written into the square for February fourteenth is an afternoon meeting with an executive from Sunkist. "You're still coming with me this afternoon, right?" he asks.

"Yes, I've been reminded five times already." Pete sits down. "I thought we could-"

"Later?" Ted asks. "I need to take care of something." He opens the line of drawers on either side of his desk, pushing them shut when he doesn't see what he's looking for.

Pete blinks and then rises up from his seat. "I'll check with you before lunch."

"Thanks. Can you send Moira in?"

Pete walks out, leaving the door open. After a beat Moira enters and cheerfully inquires, "What did you need, Mr. Chaough?"

"A few sheets of the new stationery with our letterhead and an envelope, please," he says.

She ducks out and returns with the items. "Would you like me to type correspondence for you?"

"No, thank you," he says, taking the paper and envelope.

x

Peggy waits to leave for lunch until most everyone else has been gone for a while. She walks out the door and blinks against the snowflakes that flutter down, pricking her face with spots of cold. She tightens her scarf and barrels toward the nearest diner.

Peggy takes a seat at the counter and the waitress greets her, asking if she wants coffee. "Water is fine for now, thank you," Peggy says. She orders an egg salad sandwich and cup of vegetable soup.

The bells above the door chime and the sound of giggling reaches her ears. She glances toward the noise and sees a young couple make their way to the counter, sitting two stools away from her. Peggy drops the sandwich onto the plate. Her appetite disappears as she listens to their soft, flirtatious banter and sees their hands clasped together.

"Something wrong with your order?" the waitress asks, noticing the way Peggy ignores the food and folds her arms.

"No, it's fine," Peggy tells her. "Actually, I just realized… can I get a box for this?"

x

The sunshine is deceiving. Ted walks out of the building and is surprised that it hasn't warmed up much from the chilly morning. He knows it's nothing compared to how cold it must be in New York.

He hurries to the post office box around the corner. He pulls on the latch and his hand hovers in the space, pinching the corner of the envelope. Ted closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath and lets go, listening to the faint sound of the envelope dropping to the bottom.

x

It's been a week since Valentine's Day and Peggy is glad to have all of the red and pink decorations cleared out of the office. Every last chocolate candy has been devoured and whatever flowers are left wilt in vases on the secretaries' desks.

"It's Friday again," Stan announces when she walks into the creative lounge with a fresh cup of coffee.

"That's a fact. But it doesn't mean much to me," she responds, gesturing to the sprawl of work that will keep her busy through another weekend. Peggy picks up one of Stan's sketches and adds it to the pile on her side of the table. The sound of wheels rolling on the floor catches her attention. She smiles at Jimmy as he pushes the mail cart into the room.

"Letter for Ms. Olson," he says, handing her an envelope. He looks at Stan and says, "Nothing for Mr. Rizzo."

"That's usually how it goes," Stan says. He leans across the table, squinting to try and get a better look at Peggy's mail.

She doesn't pay much attention to the envelope before slicing through it. She unfolds the crisp paper and recognizes the logo for the West Coast office. She feels heat spread from her belly to her cheeks.

"Bad news?" Stan asks.

Peggy shakes her head. She stands up, carrying the tattered envelope and the letter with her into the hallway and to her office. She slams the door and turns the lock. She leans against the door but her knees tremble. Peggy moves to sit on the sofa and squeezes her eyes shut.

She waits to read it until her heart has slowed and the trembling in her hands has ceased. Peggy unfolds the paper across her lap and notices the date written in the top corner is February 14th, 1969. She reads the words in Ted's neat, scholarly handwriting.

_Dear Peggy,_

_This is the third piece of paper. I'm trying to tell you something and realize I don't know how to say it properly. I don't know where to begin. I don't know if there is enough paper in the world to say everything. I'll start with this: I miss you. _

_Love,  
Ted_

Peggy grabs at the center of the paper with her fingers, on the verge of crinkling it and tossing it. She lets go, smoothes the wrinkles and folds it. She hides the letter in the safety of her purse.

x

The house smells like Nan's pot roast. He can hear the boys arguing over what to watch on television. Ted lingers near the front door, not shutting it all the way, ashamed at the thought nagging him – he could sneak back out the door and leave.

"Honey? Is that you?" Nan calls from down the hallway.

Ted closes the door and turns the lock. He leans his briefcase against the wall. It's not until he hears the click of her heels on the kitchen floor that he calls back, "Yes, I'm home."

"Dinner is almost ready," she says, greeting him halfway. She kisses his cheek and hooks her arm around his, walking him into the kitchen. "What would you like to drink?"

Ted stands behind a kitchen chair, gripping the back until his knuckles turn white. He looks at the placemats and plates and utensils arranged over the folded cloth napkins and knows he should be feeling blessed and lucky. "Water is fine," he says, his voice strained. "Excuse me a minute."

He leaves the kitchen and heads up the stairs. He goes into his den and shuts the door. Ted tugs at the knot in his tie, loosening its hold around his neck. He thinks about how his father used to disappear right before dinner to drain a bottle of gin and his chest aches.

Ted sits at the desk and opens the middle right drawer. He removes a stack of folders rubber banded together. He pulls one out, the tab labeled _St. Joseph's, _and spreads the papers out over the desk. He studies the page marked with Peggy's scrawl, her first outline of the _Rosemary's Baby_ pitch.

There is a knock on the door followed by, "Dad? Dinner is ready."

Ted clears his throat. "Okay, I'll be right there." He snaps the folder shut and puts everything back in its place.

x

She sits at the bar with the letter protruding from her purse. Every so often Peggy touches the paper, rubs it between her thumb and index finger.

"Another whiskey sour?" the bartender asks, wiping the bar in front of her.

Peggy considers his question, looking into her empty glass.

"Say yes and it's on me," says a male voice from behind her.

Peggy turns around. She narrows her eyes and then smiles in recognition. "Charles, hello."

"Charlie," he says. He points to the empty seat next to her. "Mind if I sit down?"

She shakes her head and sweeps her purse closer to her. "How are you? Where are you working these days?" Peggy asks, recalling how he was briefly part of Gleason's art department when she first started at CGC.

He orders himself a drink and another for Peggy. He talks about working for David Ogilvy and how he regrets being out of town when Frank Gleason passed. When Charlie asks after Ted Chaough, Peggy says, "Hmm? Oh, I couldn't tell you. But I've heard he's doing great work in California."

x

He doesn't hear Nan enter the room. Ted has his eyes closed and he cringes when Nan slides her arm around his shoulders, settling next to him on the bed. She looks wounded at his reaction and Ted says, "You startled me."

"I was thinking," she says, "that we could plan a trip for with the boys when they're on break this spring."

"A trip? We just settled _here_," Ted snaps.

Nan drops her arm from his shoulders. "I meant something like a drive along the coast, Ted. A trip to another part of California." She stands up. "Although you've hardly seen Los Angeles as it is."

He presses the heel of his hand between his eyes. "I have to get to New York in the spring, you know that."

Nan opens a drawer and removes her nightgown. "Of course." She slams it shut with her hip. "New York needs you."

x

Charlie's hands are eager. Before Peggy has every button on her coat unhooked he slides his hands beneath the wool and holds her hips, guiding her against the wall outside her front door.

The vestibule is dark and Peggy is grateful. She can't see the detail of his face. She can only feel his hot mouth on her neck, leaving kisses along her collarbone as he releases the buttons on her blouse. "Aren't you going to open the door?" Charlie asks, and then resumes kissing across her chest.

Peggy reaches into her purse to find her keys and feels the envelope there. She hears Ted's voice ask _How was your date? _and then _You didn't bring him home_. She becomes still, her arms hanging limp at her sides.

Charlie pulls back. "Peggy?"

She lifts her hand to pat his chest and gives him a gentle nudge away. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I can't… I'm sorry."

Peggy turns to the door, ignoring him while she finds her keys and struggles to open every lock. She hears him shuffle toward the building's door, and when he opens it and stands there a moment, Peggy shivers against the draft of cold air he lets in.

She slips inside her apartment and leans against the door to seal it shut. Her eyes scan the dark, quiet, perfectly still space. Peggy thinks how cathartic it would have been to let Charlie in and to have taken him to bed. But instead she removes Ted's letter, drops her purse in the middle of the floor, and seeks the comfort of her bed alone.


	3. Chapter 3

**III.**

A memo goes out to the office that Ted Chaough and Pete Campbell will be spending three days in March in the East Coast office, providing updates on Sunkist and discussing potential new business. Stan folds his copy into a poor origami crane and sails it across the room, narrowly missing Peggy's face.

"Hey," she scolds, swatting at it. She pushes her chair back and bends to pick it up.

"Don't bother reading it," Stan tells her.

Peggy unfolds the paper. She feels the color drain from her face and turns sideways in her chair.

"They'll probably be in meetings that we won't get invited to."

Her teeth pinch her bottom lip. She shrugs and stands up, depositing the memo in the trash on her way toward the door. "I forgot," she says quietly, her head down. "I have to see Joan about…" She trails off.

Stan scoots to the edge of the sofa cushion. "Hey, look," he stammers, catching himself. He's never asked Peggy to confirm or deny the rumors. He's drawn his own conclusions from what he saw and didn't think he needed her to say yes or no. But the look on her face makes Stan think he underestimated the depth of Peggy's feelings.

"…that Avon thing," Peggy continues. She slips out into the hallway and to the elevator. She suddenly can't breathe inside the walls of the office.

x

"I'm only gone for three days," Ted explains to Thomas. He squats on the driveway to put himself at eye level with his youngest son.

"Maybe longer though, right?" Edward asks from where he stands with Nan near the porch.

Ted puts his hand on Thomas' shoulder as he stands. He turns to face his oldest. "I don't know, Eddie."

"I'm just saying. You should tell him there's a chance you'll be gone longer." Edward turns sharply toward the front door, his long, gangly arms swinging at his side.

Ted stares at the open door into the house, unable to see his son. But he can guess Edward is stomping up the stairs to his bedroom. He's been keeping to himself a lot lately, and while Nan always offers the excuse that he is a teenager, Ted knows it's much more than that. He knows how perceptive he was of his own father at that age.

"Say goodbye, Tommy," Nan says as she steps down from the porch to the driveway. "Your father is going to be late."

Thomas throws his arms around Ted's waist and Ted hoists him up into a tight embrace. He kisses the boy's forehead as he sets him back on the ground. He turns to Nan and the hug he offers her is one arm loose around her waist and a quick peck on the cheek.

"I'll call when I get settled," Ted says.

Nan whispers for Thomas to go find his brother. She watches Ted load his suitcases into the trunk of his car. "Remind me. You'll be at the Waldorf?" Nan asks.

Ted has told her, and it's been written down on a piece of paper under a magnet on the refrigerator for over a week. But he nods. "Yes, the Waldorf."

x

The chatter around the office is that Ted will be using his old office and Pete will be set up in Don's. Peggy overhears Dawn being told, "But they won't be here very much. Several meetings are scheduled at the hotel."

Dawn is tasked with sprucing up Ted's office – wheeling in a bar cart with clean glasses, putting a freshly potted plant near the window. Peggy makes a point of running into her outside the door. "Hello," she says. "When do they arrive from California?"

"The flight is delayed," Dawn explains. "They should have been here by now but it won't be until after five o'clock. They are going straight to the hotel." She closes the door.

Peggy smiles and turns to head back to her post. She waits to release the pent up, nervous sigh she was holding onto until Dawn is out of earshot. She has at least two more hours of work to put in on Avon and is relieved she can delay (and hopefully avoid altogether) seeing Ted.

"Ms. Olson!"

Peggy spins around. "Got something for me, Jimmy?" she asks.

He hands her an envelope. "Another letter for you."

Peggy's fingers pinch the corners of the rectangular envelope like it's fragile. She rudely turns away from Jimmy without thanking him, hurrying to her office. She walks in and sees Stan reclining on the sofa. "Damn it, Stan," she seethes.

He opens his eyes. "What did I do now?"

Without a word Peggy storms off, making a point of pulling the door shut with enough force to rattle the pictures on the wall. She makes a beeline for the bathroom, almost colliding with Meredith.

Peggy locks herself in a stall and sits on the toilet. She tears the envelope, mangling the thick paper to get to the letter.

_Dear Peggy,_

_By the time this letter arrives I will probably already be in New York. I imagine you don't want to see me. I don't blame you. _

_Do you know what I think about as much as our one night together? The sound of your laughter. How you made me laugh. _

_I miss sitting across a table from you and passing ideas back and forth. _

_Love,  
Ted_

x

"You staying?" Stan asks from the doorway.

Peggy covers Ted's letter with her arm. She's been reading it for the last twenty minutes, staring at the careful loops of his handwriting. "Yes. For a while."

"Goodnight."

"I'm not sure when I'll be here tomorrow," she tells him. "I have some appointments."

Stan nods. He tries on a look of surprise for her benefit, but he suspected she would keep her distance. He's rather glad to know she'll avoid the office for a couple days. It was hard to be around her when she was pining or mourning after Ted. "Okay. See you when I see you," he says.

Peggy keeps her eyes on the doorway until she's certain he's gone. She unscrews the cap on her bottle of rye and pours more than she should into a glass. She needs to focus on Avon, not Ted or his letter or his arrival back in New York. She takes a long drink and the amber liquid slides down her throat and bleeds warmth through her belly.

After two more glasses and an hour's worth of typed and handwritten garbage, Peggy knows she's going to need food to accomplish any decent work. She heads out into the darkened hallway and is grateful for the silence. She pauses outside of Don's office and tries the doorknob, scoffing when it doesn't budge. She's been hearing for months about Lou Avery stepping in but it hasn't happened yet. The man doesn't keep an office in the building but keeps a hand in everything they do. _Not unlike someone else I know,_ she thinks.

Peggy proceeds toward the kitchen. She retrieves a plate and scraps together a ham sandwich. She finds a container of potato salad. She pops the lid and sniffs the contents.

"I wouldn't eat that."

The container slips out of her hand. It hits the floor on its side and the potato salad spills out in a pile of yellow clumps. Peggy hopes for a moment that she's hearing things.

"I'm pretty sure that was there before I left."

She swallows against the lump in her throat and turns slowly.

"I didn't mean to scare you," Ted says. His coat is folded over his arm and he looks tired and unkempt; his suit is wrinkled, his hair mussed.

Peggy says nothing. She kneels down, using the plastic lid to push the spilled potato salad back into the container.

Ted enters the kitchen and drapes his coat over the back of a chair. He wets a dishtowel and kneels opposite Peggy, wiping the mess.

She stands up and drops the container into the trash. She starts to leave the room and stops outside the door. With her back to him Peggy asks, "What are you doing here?"

"Our flight was delayed. I didn't know you would still be here," Ted tells her. "Have you been getting my letters?"

Peggy takes off. The clap of her shoes against the floor is loud and determined – determined to escape, to avoid. She grabs her things from her office and storms out, leaving the light on and leaving her work in progress scattered around. She casts a glance over her shoulder and doesn't see Ted. Peggy dashes out of the firm's lobby and to the elevators, pressing the down arrow repeatedly.

The elevator slides open and she steps inside. Peggy's shoulders relax as she sighs, but then Ted's hand nudges between the closing doors and he sneaks inside. They become sealed in the elevator as it descends with a deliberate lack of speed.

"We can't go on like this, Peggy," Ted tells her. "I'm still one of the agency's Creative Directors. We're going to have to be able to speak to each other eventually."

Peggy clenches her teeth. For a moment she thought he was going to make a bold declaration, like the things he's said in his letters. But its business he wants to discuss and when the elevator reaches the lobby she squeezes by him.

He follows Peggy as she exits the building onto the sidewalk. His heavy steps chase the softer patter of her shoes on the ground. They nearly collide when Peggy stops suddenly and wheels around. "I'm not ready to talk to you," she shouts. "I get to decide when I'm ready to talk to you and it is not right now."

The volume of her voice and the venom – the angry twist of her mouth and set of her eyes – makes Ted reel back. He holds up a hand in surrender and watches her go.

x

Peggy arrives when she knows Ted and Pete will be at a breakfast meeting. She settles behind her desk and sorts through the memos Phyllis has left – _Anita wants you to call her, Topaz meeting rescheduled for Friday, Mr. Cutler wants to see you ASAP. _

She scoots her chair back and takes a drink from her coffee mug. Peggy makes her way up the stairs and finds Jim Cutler and Roger Sterling standing at the window. She smiles and says, "Good morning. You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, dear, good morning," Cutler says. "We need you at the Waldorf tonight at seven for the Koss meeting."

She folds her hands in front of her. "I don't have anything prepared for Koss," she tells them.

Roger shrugs. "We had to schedule something while Ted was here so we don't lose them. They like the two of you."

Peggy shakes her head. She moves her hands to behind her back so they can't see the way she nervously fidgets. "Did they ask to meet with me?"

"Not exactly, no," Cutler admits.

She wants to ask if Ted requested her presence but can't bring herself to put the thought out into the open. "Isn't Ted enough of a representation of the creative side? I have personal business to attend to. You know I'm stretched thin these days and it's not that I-"

"Peggy," Cutler says, drawing toward her. "The last few months have been trying for the agency, as you know. We have to show our New York based clients that our commitment to them hasn't changed. Especially the clients that started with us at CGC."

"It's a free dinner," Roger chimes in.

She thinks about Don's office and how well Lou Avery is or isn't working out. It's nice to be needed and Peggy finally nods, defeated and somewhat flattered. "Seven?"

x

She makes a point of being early. Peggy gets seated at the table and orders a glass of Merlot. She watches the doorway through the corner of her eye. When she sees Ted and Ken arrive she busies herself with reading the menu so that she seems mostly bothered by their arrival at the table.

Ken catches Ted up on the Koss account and Peggy interrupts to say, "Excuse me for a minute." The two men rise from their chairs as she departs the table.

Ted's eyes follow her path toward the doorway that leads to the restrooms. He notices she's wearing a skirt and blouse that are professional and authoritative at first glance, but at certain angles are eye-catching and sexy. He thinks about the outfit she wore the previous day and wonders if this is Peggy's new style. He wonders if it's for his benefit – to entice him or to drive him insane.

Peggy returns only a moment before the two executives from Koss arrive and Ted is impressed at the command she takes. He recalls bringing Peggy into her first meeting with them and the evenings they spent building on her "lend me your ears" idea. Ted smiles and Ken has to nudge him under the table when he doesn't realize the waiter is asking for his drink order.

"I'll take a rye rocks, please," he says.

The discussion turns to Ted's new place of residence. Peggy squirms in her seat as she listens to Ted talk about the weather and the amount of driving he has to do there and how his sons have adjusted. He looks directly at her when he admits, "I haven't even been to the beach."

"Not a fan of the sun and sand?" Ken asks.

"It's not that, exactly," Ted explains. "It's been a busy couple of months."

Peggy does her best to steer the conversation back to business. She is sure to mention their second successful Superbowl campaign and thinks on the fly of a few ideas for the next year. Her humor charms all four of the men at the table and they stay long after dessert, long enough to order Peggy a third and fourth glass of Merlot.

Ken excuses himself to see the clients out, leaving Peggy and Ted alone at the table. He shifts in his chair and she signals for the waiter, filling the silence with another drink order and small talk about the dessert being devoured at the next table.

Ken returns and praises Peggy, telling her, "Koss isn't going anywhere thanks to you." He doesn't sit down, only gives her shoulder a friendly squeeze and shakes Ted's hand before saying, "I've got to get home. Thanks for a successful evening."

Ted folds back the sleeve of his suit coat, looking at the time in California. He doesn't say that he needs to call home. "I should head upstairs," he tells her. "Early meeting."

"I'm going to stay and finish this." Peggy lifts her glass, swirling the dark red wine.

He stands and pushes his seat in, his hands lingering over the back of the chair. "Goodnight."

x

He kicks his shoes off, one landing under the bed. Ted loosens his tie and tosses it onto the dresser. He removes his dress shirt, hanging it from the bathroom doorknob. He needs to call Nan but he can't do anything until he takes a cold shower. He can't speak to his wife until he drowns out the fresh sound of Peggy's voice and laughter, until he stops remembering the taste of her mouth.

Ted grips the hem of his white undershirt and begins to lift it up over his head when he hears a knock on the door. He rolls the shirt back down and unlinks the chain on the door, pulling it open. "Peggy," he whispers. He closes his eyes and expects her to be gone when he opens them again.

She backs up, leaning against the wall across from his room. She crosses one ankle over the other and removes a cigarette and lighter from her purse. Peggy flicks the lighter and the flame glows in the dim hallway.

Ted is rapt, watching her lips pucker around the cigarette. "Did you… did you want to come in?" he asks.

Peggy shakes her head. She takes a long drag and then the smoke leisurely billows from her mouth. "I'm staying right here."

He looks over his shoulder and reaches back to grab the ashtray on the night table. He holds it, leaning against the wall opposite from her. "Is this about Koss?" he guesses.

She shakes her head again. She tilts her head back to blow smoke toward the ceiling, exposing her neck. Ted allows himself to notice the things he worked so hard during dinner to ignore – like the shape of her hips under the high waisted skirt or the expanse of skin between the open V of her blouse.

Peggy leans away from the wall and crosses toward him. She stumbles and it becomes apparent what gave her the courage to come see him. He holds the ashtray on the palm of his hand and she stubs her cigarette out against the clean glass bottom.

"I decided I wanted to talk with you. Well, no," she amends. "I decided I wanted to talk _to_ you. It's difficult to send my work to you or get your notes and listen to you on the phone. And it's not just because of what happened between us."

Ted feels the heat from her body and presses his back further against the wall.

"I liked you. I looked up to you. I was excited about working for you. I know you hate being told how nice you are and if you wanted me to stop thinking that about you… it worked." Peggy punctuates her thought with a snide smile. But the expression droops and her eyes become red and glossy. Her breath snags in her throat.

Ted's free hand twitches, wanting to offer comfort at the sound of a strangled sob in Peggy's throat.

Peggy shakes her head. "But that's not completely true because I know you were trying to do the right thing. I guess you can't do what's right for one person without leaving someone else behind."

He reaches out, holding his hand against her arm, rubbing his palm down to her elbow and back up.

"Please don't touch me," she whispers.

Ted draws his hand back, clenching a fist.

"Please stop sending letters. What are you thinking? What if it gets put in with someone else's mail? When you call me, go through Phyllis. Try not to talk to me unless it's a conference call about an account." Peggy bends her head forward and Ted does the same. Their foreheads don't quite touch but he can smell the wine on her breath and feel the sweet warmth on his face. "That's how you can do the right thing for me, Ted," she says. She intends to move backward but the heel of her shoe snags on the carpet and she wobbles, reaching out and pressing her hand flat to his stomach to balance herself. Her fingers clutch the soft cotton and Ted trembles under the touch. Peggy leans forward, her lips brushing the corner of his mouth before she grunts and pushes herself back.

He touches the wrinkled material of his shirt and watches her hurry down the hall and disappear around the corner. Ted hears the muffled ring of the phone through the wall and heads into the room. He sets the ashtray down and his hand hovers over the phone. He walks away from it, yanking his shirt over his head on his way to the bathroom. Ted turns the shower on, strips off the rest of his clothes and stands under the cold burst of water – failing to numb the memory of Peggy's hands and mouth and skin.


	4. Chapter 4

**IV.**

Ted paces a straight line in front of Pete's desk. "They hated it," he snaps.

"You're exaggerating," Pete counters. "They thought it could be better."

"They hated it." Ted sits in one of the chairs across from the desk. He hangs his head.

Pete shrugs and holds his empty hands out. "Perhaps we don't have the staff for this client right now. But you know how many people we interviewed. We have the best of the bunch."

"But we don't have-" He stops himself from saying her name. "We don't have what Sunkist needs."

x

The letters stop. Peggy only hears Ted's voice on the phone when someone else is in the room with her and his questions or instructions crackle through the speaker. His leadership from afar begins to afford Peggy more opportunities to lead client meetings when Avery is unavailable, and her increased presence has Stan convinced the partners are on the verge of making her some kind of offer ("Maybe not a partnership," he has said, "but a bigger office. More money.")

Peggy is looking at herself in the small, round mirror of her Avon compact. She presses the powder puff around her nose and taps it to her forehead. "If you need another, a box just came in," Joan says, letting herself into the room.

"I just got this one," Peggy tells her, snapping the compact shut.

"Well, I'm not here about make-up. Mr. Sterling wants to see you upstairs."

Peggy takes a deep breath and tries not to hear Stan's voice going on about promotions and partnerships. He has planted a notion in her head that grows more appealing each day but still seems out of reach.

"Just Roger?" Peggy asks.

Joan shrugs. "You better hurry and find out."

Peggy smoothes a hand down the front of her skirt and adjusts the collar of her blouse as she stands. She feels eyes on her back as she approaches the staircase, but when Peggy looks there is no one paying much attention to her. The climb upstairs feels torturously slow and difficult.

"Mr. Sterling wanted to see me," she tells Caroline.

"Yes," Caroline says. "He's with Mr. Cutler in Mr. Cooper's office. He said to go on in."

Her feet shuffle across the floor; she has lead in her limbs. She knocks on the door and hears a muffled greeting and turns the knob. Peggy remembers to remove her shoes and leaves them outside the door as she lets herself in. The three men are scattered in the chairs and couch that take up one corner of the spacious room.

"Hello," Peggy says, feeling the plush carpet through the nylon that covers her feet. "You wanted to see me?" She directs the question at no one in particular, her eyes focused on the newest painting on the wall.

Cutler stands and gestures toward an open chair. Peggy sits and he explains, "We're having some trouble with the Sunkist account."

The mention of it makes her stomach drop, but she maintains a smile. "Oh?"

Roger chimes in, "The creative stinks."

Cutler clears his throat. "The work is lacking. They aren't ready to drop us by any means, but they are getting frustrated. We'd like you to spend a little time in California. Meet with the folks from Sunkist. Work with the team."

"I'm flattered you think I can help, but I'm swamped as it is. We're finally making headway with Chevy and I've got Avon and-."

"We know you've picked up a lot of extra responsibility, Peggy, and we're grateful," Cutler goes on. "We feel confident you can handle both. California will only be a week, at most."

She bites down on her tongue. Peggy hears the three of them talking and she feels her lips move and then Cutler's hand is on her back walking her to the door. He thanks her and says something about Phyllis making arrangements but it's all noise to Peggy.

She heads down the stairs, gripping the railing. She stops and stares at the closed door to Ted's office. His name has been removed. She worries about the name that will that will fill the blank spot by the time she returns to New York.

x

"I asked them to send Ginsberg," Pete says. "I guess he's pretty tied up with Chevy."

Ted turns away from Pete, facing the window. He watches the cars go by and the people strolling along the sidewalk and crossing the street. The motion is soundless, small and faraway. "They don't need to send _anyone_," he stresses. "Couldn't we just put the client on the phone with her?"

"I suggested that. But Jim and Roger think we need someone to sit down in the same room as these guys and show them a decent idea or two." Pete knows he needs to proceed with caution. He lowers his voice and says, "Look, Ted. You've been bogged down with the move and getting us situated here. Take advantage of this. While Peggy is working with the copywriters, you can finish settling in. Schedule all of your meetings. By the time she leaves you can really dive into the actual work."

Ted pivots away from the window. He smiles and thanks Pete, as if it could really be that easy to handle Peggy being in California with them.

"This is a good thing for us," Pete says as he backs up toward the door.

Ted waits for him to leave before slumping down onto the couch. He buries his face in his hands and recalls his last conversation with Peggy. _That's how you can do the right thing for me, Ted. _It's been easier to do right by her from the other side of the country. He is exhausted at the prospect of balancing his feelings for Peggy with the increasing difficulty of his life at home.

x

The plane reaches its desired altitude. Peggy retrieves the notebook and pen she tucked into the pouch of the seat in front of her. She opens to a page in the middle where she's already scribbled several awful tags and a few decent ones for Sunkist.

"Would you like something to drink?" the stewardess asks.

The young woman's hat rests on a bed of thick blonde curls and the potency of her perfume makes Peggy cough. "Screwdriver, please," Peggy answers.

x

The house is dark when Ted arrives home two hours earlier than usual. He glances out the curtain, certain he saw Nan's car in the driveway. "Hello?" he calls out, setting his things down and making his way toward the kitchen.

There are four place settings on the table and a potholder on the floor. He stoops to pick it up and feels heat coming from the oven. The door squeaks as he opens it; the oven is empty. "Nan?" he yells, turning the knob and killing the heat.

He makes his way to the backdoor and sees Thomas kicking a ball around the yard. He walks outside and finds Nan at the patio table, a tall glass of lemonade sweating on a napkin. "I'm home," he announces stoically.

Nan cocks her head to the side and faces forward again just as quickly. "Hello."

"The oven was on."

She clucks her tongue. "I was going to start the meatloaf. I decided I should wait until I knew you were coming home."

He waves when Thomas catches sight of him. "I told you I was-" Ted interrupts himself, deciding it's not worthwhile to reiterate the promise he made in the morning. After all, he is only home early so he's not available to go to the airport or be available to meet Peggy at the office. "Well, I turned it off."

Nan stands from her seat. Her shorts are wrinkled and the woven pattern of the chair is impressed into her skin. "I'll start dinner," she says.

"We could just go out. We haven't done that in a while."

Nan shakes her head. "I've already mixed the beef and-"

"That's fine. Maybe tomorrow night," Ted suggests.

Nan puts her hand on his arm. "Do you really think you could find the time?"

He thinks about Peggy and the meeting with Sunkist and the amount of work that has to happen before, in between and after. He sucks in a sharp breath between his teeth and Nan pulls her hand back. "It's a busy week. Tonight would have been a good time."

Nan shrugs. "What's so busy about this week?"

His eye twitches. "I think it's our last chance to impress Sunkist. They haven't been happy with the work so far."

"Oh. Well, yes. I can see why you've been so tense. They are the whole reason we came out here."

Ted nods. He doesn't breathe until Nan is back inside the house, moving around the kitchen. He should tell her about Peggy, he knows. He should tell her in case Nan decides to surprise him at the office or one of the secretaries says something to her over the phone. But Ted turns his attention to Thomas and removes his suit coat, draping it over the back of a chair. He rolls the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. "I'll be the goalie," he shouts to his son.

x

Peggy keeps herself busy during the flight with work, drinks, and intermittently falling asleep. But when the plane begins its descent and she is bumped forward by the rough landing, she can't stop herself from speculating about Ted.

She gathers her things and listens to the captain welcome them to the City of Angels. "It is seventy-two degrees in Los Angeles. Enjoy your stay."

Peggy makes her way slowly to the luggage carousel. She watches the bags spin, less and less luggage taking up space with every turn. She sees her bags but waits to grab them until almost everything else is gone. She knows Ted won't be at the airport but she can't stop looking for his face everywhere.

Dragging her suitcases, she stops in the middle of the floor and digs in her purse. Peggy retrieves the paper with the name and address of her hotel – the one Phyllis made her promise multiple times not to lose. When she resumes walking, she sees a man holding a square sign with her name written in thick block letters.

"Hello," she says, approaching him. "I'm Peggy Olson."

He greets her cheerfully. "The car is waiting." He takes her bags and leads her toward the exit.

Peggy stands on the sidewalk while the driver loads the car. She tilts her head back, taking in the clear night sky and the spatter of stars. Everyone has been telling her the air is different in California and she takes a deep breath and holds it in her lungs.

x

Nan carries two plates outside to the patio. Edward follows behind her with two more. "What a great idea," Ted says, snatching the ball out of Thomas' hands. "Let's go wash up."

He and Thomas wash their hands at the sink and race back to the patio. They eat quietly, Thomas doing most of the talking. He's excited about something on television and when he's almost cleared his plate he asks what time it is. Edward tells him what the clock said the last time he looked and Ted closes his eyes; he can feel the steady descent of a plane, the way it makes you lift out of your seat, the bounce of the wheels first scratching the ground.

Ted opens his eyes. His fork stabs the last bite of meatloaf on his plate. He wipes a bead of sweat from his brow. "I should take a shower," he says to Nan after the boys have cleared away from the table, gathering around the television. She nods and the two of them carry the dirty dishes into the house.

He removes his tie and unbuttons his shirt as he climbs the stairs. He kicks his shoes off and bends to peel away his socks. He closes the bathroom door, sealing himself inside the cool, quiet space. Nan's slip falls from the hook on the back of the door and when Ted picks it up and leans against the wall. The feel of the satin and its light weight in his hand makes his mind drift.

_Peggy is seated on the edge of his desk wearing only an ivory slip with lace trim around the bust. He cups her chin, pulling back from a heated kiss. He traces his fingers down her neck, pressing his palm flat to her chest and rubbing down to between her breasts. She lies back on the desk. He holds her hips, pulling her flush against him as Peggy's legs lock around him and the slip pools around her waist, baring her thighs and the…_

Ted's fantasy ends abruptly when he hears a knock on the door and Nan's voice saying, "I put a clean towel outside the door for you."

"Thank you," he chokes. He hangs the wrinkled slip back on the hook and runs the water.

x

The Biltmore is glamorous. Peggy feels out of place and checks the paper from Phyllis, making sure the driver took her to the right place. She approaches the front desk with caution and is surprised when the clerk sounds like he was expecting her. "Yes, Ms. Olson! We have a lovely room ready for you."

It is lovely. Peggy wants to call her mother and brag about how lovely it is. The room smells like lavender and the colors are lush. She explores – pressing her hand in the middle of the bed, turning on the bathroom light. She crosses to the dresser where a bouquet of vibrant lilies and alstroemeria catch her eye. She pushes out a nervous breath when she notices the small card propped against the vase.

Her name is spelled out in a delicate script across the front of the envelope. Peggy tears the paper and notes the handwriting is familiar but not Ted's.

_Glad to have you working with us here. _

_-Pete _

She sighs, but her relief is short-lived. It's replaced by a sense of dread for what the week will bring and an overwhelming confusion. Peggy doesn't want scandal and drama but she can't help be disappointed that Ted's name wasn't on the card.

x

They are expecting her promptly at nine o'clock. The secretaries have the conference room table set with coffee, pitchers of Sunkist, a bowl of apples and oranges, and a tray of pastries and muffins. Two staff copywriters have crammed their belongings into an office with freelancers, freeing up a space for Peggy to work.

Pete wanders out of the conference room and to Ted's office. He asks Moira if Ted has arrived yet. She shakes her head. "No, I haven't seen him or heard from him."

"Alright. When Ms. Olson arrives, please bring her to the conference room," Pete instructs. He steps to the window and cups his hands around his eyes, looking down at the street.

x

The lobby is quiet. Ted sits on a bench directly across from the revolving doors at the main entrance. He's asked himself a thousand times if it would be better to see Peggy upstairs with everyone else or alone. Even when he sees her get out of a taxi on the sidewalk he doesn't know the answer.

He looks down at his shoes and hears the click of her heels as she enters. Ted stands and buttons his suit coat. He leaves his briefcase on the bench.

Peggy spots him and clenches her teeth. She remains in place, letting him walk toward her.

"Hello, Peggy," he greets her. "Welcome to L.A."

She offers a polite smile, a curt nod of her head.

Everything he practiced saying – how appreciative they are of her traveling west, how productive the week will be – vanishes on his tongue. Ted swallows against the ache in his throat.

"I should go upstairs," Peggy says. "I'm running a few minutes behind. I know I'm on a tight schedule while I'm here."

"Yes." He points toward the elevator and reaches onto the bench for his briefcase.

"I should go," she says. "Alone."

He nods, understanding the implication, and takes a step back.

"I only agreed to this trip because Sunkist is an important client," she says. "I'm here because I believe I can help the agency. That's the only reason."

Ted nods again. He watches Peggy proceed to the elevator, carrying her purse and a slim, feminine briefcase. He smiles – proud and impressed by how professional she looks, how prepared. He sits back down and repeats her words, trying to convince himself there's only one reason Peggy is in Los Angeles – for the good of the agency.


	5. Chapter 5

**V.**

Peggy closes out her first full day of working in the West Coast office by reviewing submissions from the agency's copywriters and freelancers. She deduces that the art could be better. The tags are mediocre but she circles a few good kernels. She wants to trash all of the ideas for commercials but slides the papers into a folder to preserve them.

She picks up the phone and dials. Stan answers after the first ring. "Have you seen any movie stars?" he asks.

She laughs quietly and leans back in the chair. "I've barely left the office." She lifts her feet onto the desk, stretching.

He asks if they have their own Ginsberg and Mathis and she says, "I never thought I'd miss those guys." Peggy tells him about the hotel and her room. "That bed could convince me to stay forever."

Stan wants to know what Pete is like out of New York and how the women dress. "It's not that different from our office," Peggy says, disappointing him. She adds, "It seems like they drink less here."

The door squeaks open and her heels slip from the edge of the desk. "We'll touch base on that Tuesday," Peggy says and hangs up the phone. She is relieved to see Pete step into the room behind Ted. She straightens her spine against the back of the chair, crosses one leg over the other.

"How did it go?" Pete asks.

"It was productive," she says. She pats her hand over the closed folder. "I think I can expand on some of this before the meeting. It helped me flesh out a couple of my own ideas."

Ted remains on the opposite side of the room, sitting against the arm of the sofa. "That's great to hear."

"We wanted to touch base with you about the meeting with Sunkist," Pete says, giving the door a shove until it clicks shut. "It's going to be here at four o'clock on Wednesday. We'll know it went well if they ask us about going to dinner afterward. We're hoping the next two days will be enough time for you to work with the team and have something solid to take to the meeting."

Peggy nods along with him. "I see that happening."

Pete claps his hands once. "Good news. Are you about finished for the day?"

She shrugs and sweeps her eyes across the cluttered desk. "Almost. I can get myself back to the hotel."

Ted says, "I'll be available if you need help. I had some meetings scheduled but they've mostly been cancelled."

Pete's head snaps to the side – _since when?_

"So, anyway… We'll see you tomorrow," Ted tells her. He opens the door and waits for Pete to exit. He leans back into the room and asks, "Is there any one idea that stands out?"

Peggy reaches across the desk, dragging the notebook toward her. She opens to the last page she wrote on. Ted crosses the room and stands behind her chair, bends at the waist. She points to a string of sentences halfway down the page and Ted releases a genuine chuckle. His reaction makes Peggy laugh and she angles toward him, her knees knocking his leg. The room falls silent; their shared smiles wane.

Ted backs away. "That's very good, Peggy," he says loudly. He sees movement through the corner of his eye – Pete lurking in the hallway. "Good work. Have a good night."

x

Peggy wakes in the morning in the middle of the wide, luxurious bed. She rolls onto her back and stretches her legs, finding a cool spot under the covers. She fell asleep the night before feeling satisfied with the first day. That sentiment creeps away the more she wakes up, the more she replays her final moments in the office the night before.

Sharing her work with Ted – having him appreciate the humor – takes Peggy back to her first days at CGC. He was a new kind of boss, and before she ever had amorous feelings for him, she valued how in synch they were as boss and employee. As co-workers. Comrades.

Peggy slides out from under the covers. She is still on New York time and realizes it's not yet light in Los Angeles. She knows it would be a good idea to get a head start and heads for the shower, filling her thoughts with oranges and pulp and the benefits of Vitamin C.

x

The office overlooks a row of palm trees and beyond that more high rises mingled with hotels. Peggy perches on the window ledge of her borrowed office and admires the view. The sky is bright orange and the sun glows a perfect circle of yellow between the buildings. It rises higher and higher, bleeding into the orange, lightening the sky. The sun glints off the windows of the buildings and makes something ordinary majestic.

"It's a sight to behold, isn't it?"

Peggy turns to the door. She smiles briefly at Ted. "Good morning."

"Good morning." It pains him how they exchange pleasantries, as if they've only just met. As if he doesn't know the scent, taste and texture of her skin.

"I've narrowed yesterday's work down to three scenarios," Peggy says, diving right into the work. "I think it would be a good strategy to divide the team up and get them to pitch how we could translate each idea to TV, print and radio."

Ted nods his approval. "That's an excellent idea."

"Do you want to look at these?" Peggy asks, turning the folders toward him.

He shakes his head. "I trust your judgment. Let the client make the decision."

x

Ted never goes home for lunch, but he carves time out of the day to leave the office. Edward is home sick and he wants to surprise him. He tells himself he wants to impress Nan, but the truth is, he wants to relieve his guilt.

He notices immediately how calm the house is. It's so different to come home without the noise of the television and the chatter of the boys and Nan tinkering around the kitchen. He finds no evidence that anyone is on the first floor and realizes Nan's purse and keys are missing from their usual spot.

Ted climbs the stairs and stops outside Edward's room. He presses his ear to the door and knocks before pushing it open.

"Dad?" Edward rolls onto his side and blinks his eyes, adjusting to the light.

"I didn't mean to wake you," Ted says. He pads across the carpet and sits on the edge of the bed. His weight dents the mattress and Edward sinks toward him. He presses the back of his hand to the boy's forehead. "How are you feeling?"

Edward shrugs a shoulder up to his ear.

"Where is your mother?"

"We ran out of cough medicine."

Ted looks at the bedside table. There is an empty, dirtied glass and a half eaten sandwich. He picks up the glass. "Do you want more? What were you drinking?"

"Orange juice."

x

The view is distracting. Peggy turns her chair to face the window and gazes at the sky, watching a reverse of the sunrise she witnessed almost fourteen hours earlier. The sun drops slowly, leaving behind a spread of brilliant pink and purple hues.

"I had a feeling you were still here," Pete calls from the doorway, breaking her reverie. He enters the office. His hands are occupied – a heavy, full glass in each one – so he gives the door a nudge with his foot.

Peggy stands up to accept one of the glasses. She takes a sip and smiles – a manhattan. "Thank you."

"Thought you might be tired of juice."

"Is this late for you?" Peggy asks, moving to sit on the sofa.

Pete joins her, taking up the opposite end, propping one leg on the coffee table. "Not really, no. We've all been putting in long days since we got here."

Peggy thinks of how she hasn't seen or heard from Ted most of the day, and that every time she walked by his office the door was closed and the lights were out.

"Even Ted," Pete says.

She hides her relief behind the glass by taking a long drink; it must be unusual for him to be absent.

"He's not happy here."

Peggy lets the bottom of the glass rest on her thigh. "Don't," she snaps.

Pete maneuvers until he's facing her and slings his arm across the back of the couch. The ice cubes rattle in the glass as he settles. "I'm sorry. I thought you'd want to know how miserable he is."

"No, stop," Peggy whispers.

Pete complies and asks after everyone in New York. He starts to ask about Don and then veers to another topic. "You better make sure you carve out time for the beach."

Peggy laughs. She drains the rest of her drink. Her tongue pulls an ice cube into her mouth and she sucks the liquor from it. She reaches forward to set her glass down and when her vision blurs and the room spins, she realizes how long it's been since she had anything to eat. "This isn't a vacation," she reminds him. "Is there any food around here?"

"Might be something in the kitchen. But I can take you down the street to this-"

"I can order room service," she says, easing to her feet. "Thanks for the drink."

x

It's the morning of the big meeting – the reason SC&P flew Peggy to L.A. to work her magic. Ted carries a mug of coffee with him to the conference room where she has spread out the boards. He leans against the doorframe. "Good morning."

"Good morning," Peggy replies, barely glancing up from the table.

"Where is everyone?"

Peggy puts the cap on her pen and it rolls across the table. "I asked them to give me some time."

Ted recognizes the look on her face and her posture – hand on her hip, bent at the waist, eyes knitted close together. He closes the door and sets his coffee on the edge of the table. "You're not happy with something. What is it?"

She bats away the implication.

He moves to stand on the same side of the table, looking at the boards from her point of view. He points to a set in the middle. "This is the best."

"It is, but something is missing."

He shrugs. "You covered taste and the health benefits."

Peggy twists her mouth, wrinkles her nose. She throws herself down into the nearest chair. "It's not right yet."

Ted takes the seat beside her. He thinks about arriving home in the middle of the day to Edward, under the weather and alone in the silent house. He thinks about how it felt to pour his son a glass of cold juice and deliver it to his beside. "My son has a bad cold," Ted says.

She stiffens in her seat. It takes him so long to speak again that Peggy doesn't know if she should extend her sympathies to the boy or assume its Ted's way of saying he won't be at the meeting.

"He was home sick yesterday," he goes on. "I brought him a glass of orange juice. It's all he wants to drink when he's sick. There's something… caretaking. It's…"

Peggy clears her throat. She grasps a corner of one particular board and props it on her lap. Ted leans to the side to look at it with her, his arm pressing against hers. "We could make this a series. All the benefits of Sunkist. Each scenario would appeal to a different audience. We've already got active, young people in this. We could have another for parents and children," she says, and she tilts her head to catch his reaction. She's close enough to smell the coffee on his breath, the fresh laundry smell of his crisp white shirt.

"Excuse me," says a voice from the door, and Peggy doesn't immediately recognize it as Moira's. She can't focus long enough to lift her gaze to the doorway.

Ted rises to his feet. "Good morning," he says.

"Mr. Franklin is on the phone for you."

"Be right there," Ted tells her. He looks at Peggy. "I'll get Lloyd in here to add to the art."

x

Their floor of the building is sparkling clean, well lit, and mostly empty. Pete, Peggy and Ted pace about the conference room, rearranging the boards and shuffling papers and changing their minds about the planned seating arrangement for the meeting.

"I haven't had lunch," Pete says.

"Nerves?" Ted asks.

He shakes his head. Pete looks directly at Peggy. "No, I'm certain they'll be taking us to dinner to celebrate."

Peggy smiles and then shivers – her nerves are frayed and the increased pressure to bring home a winner makes her stomach flip-flop. She turns away from the men, facing the boards. Her lips move as she rehearses her pitch. She digs down to the bottom of her purse to locate a new pack of violet candies. She unwraps the foil when Moira pops into the room and announces, "They're here."

x

Ted introduces Peggy as the agency's chief copywriter and fibs a little by saying she travels between the New York and L.A. offices. She stands so Ted won't be in her line of vision, but she finds herself sneaking glances at him throughout the pitch.

She comes to the end and Pete provides a salesman's tidy, promising conclusion to the presentation. The silence that follows – the two Sunkist executives sharing glances and regarding the boards – feels endless. Pete, Peggy and Ted exhale simultaneously when one of the men rises from his chair and says, "That's what we've been looking for all along. Who here is hungry?"

x

Dinner is mostly an extension of the pitch. It becomes obvious which of the ideas Mr. Franklin and Mr. Hodges preferred and what the team will have to do to make them happen. There is a little talk of budget, some discussion of displays in grocery stores that could tie-in with the advertising.

Peggy enjoys the food and the discussion, but she worries about what it means for her role in New York and her contact with Ted. She can't imagine increasing her presence in Los Angeles or having to work more closely with him.

The first to depart the table is Franklin, and Pete uses it as an opportunity to walk him out and leave himself. Peggy wants to tag along but Hodges is peppering her with questions about life in Manhattan and she can't find the opportunity to end it without being rude.

After dessert and a round of coffee, the remaining executive pays the bill and thanks Ted and Peggy for a productive evening. The three of them walk outside. "You weren't kidding when you said you were hiding a secret weapon," Hodges says to Ted and winks at Peggy.

Handshakes and goodbyes are exchanged and Peggy and Ted are left alone on the sidewalk. "How easy is it to get a cab around here?" Peggy asks.

"I can drop you off," Ted says.

She shakes her head. "I'll use the restaurant's phone." She turns to walk away and Ted reaches out, his fingers cupping her elbow briefly.

"Thank you, Peggy," he says when she looks at him.

"I was just doing the job you brought me here to do."

He pauses, catching something in her tone. "I didn't bring you here."

Peggy rolls her eyes. "It doesn't matter, Ted. We got it done."

He looks down. He grinds the heel of his shoe into the crack in the sidewalk. "I just don't want you to think this was part of some master plan I concocted to get you out here, Peggy."

"I don't… I don't know what I think. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…"

"Forget it," he says. "We should be overjoyed right now." He thinks about how if this were happening in another time and another place he would circle his arms around her waist and lift Peggy's feet off the ground, spinning her around in a celebratory embrace.

Peggy sees a taxi on the other side of the street and waves. The driver signals at her and maneuvers to pull up alongside the curb. "You're right," she tells Ted. "We work for the same agency. This is a major client. We have to move forward and focus on the work."

"I agree."

"Congratulations," Peggy says, and it comes out a little hesitant, more like a question.

Ted smiles broadly. He says it with more conviction, "Congratulations, Peggy." He is surprised when she extends her hand and he accepts the gesture, loosely folding his fingers around hers. He tightens his grip as she pulls away, feels the loss of her touch. But the soft heat of her skin remains burning on his palm long after she climbs into the back of the taxi and leaves him on the sidewalk, unable to feel the excitement of a win beneath the anguish of not being able to hold her.


	6. Chapter 6

**VI.**

The amount of work Peggy has to accomplish in the short time she has left in Los Angeles is daunting. She hasn't been in the office for more than two hours and her back is stiff. Her head feels too heavy for her neck. She can't relax. She stretches her arms above her head and twists side to side. Peggy moves to where the Sunkist art is displayed against the wall. Lloyd drew up a storyboard off Ted's addition of the parent caring for the sick child. She zeroes in on the young boy tucked under a blue blanket, thermometer sticking out the corner of his mouth, cheeks rosy from fever.

Pete taps on the door and lets himself in, wondering if Peggy wants to leave the building for a meal or take a drive to sightsee. She declines, as she has each time he's asked since her arrival. "You really don't want to visit the beach at least once?" he asks, incredulous.

Peggy extends her arm, showing him her pasty complexion. She says, "My hotel has a pool. That might have to be as close as I get to the beach."

He eyes the new artwork and his mouth takes on the shape of the same awkward, wistful smile on Peggy's face. He ducks out and leaves Peggy to contemplate the boards and the uncomfortable similarity between herself and the mother Lloyd drew from Ted's instructions.

She told Ted the previous night that they have to move forward and focus on the work, but she knows more than ever how tangled the work and their lives are.

x

"Would the third week in June be a good time for you to visit the New York office?" Nan asks. She has the wall calendar flipped open on the kitchen table and taps a pen on the glossy page.

Ted dumps the dregs of his cold coffee into the sink. He looks at the clock – he meant to be out the door over an hour ago. "New York? What?"

The legs of Nan's chair scrape against the floor as she pushes away from the table. "The boys miss their friends and their cousins. I thought that might be a good time for us to visit."

He blinks. It's hard to think of New York when Peggy is currently in the same state and Sunkist is finally picking up momentum. "I don't know, Nan."

Her chin quivers and she looks down at her slippers. "I thought you'd jump at the chance to have a reason to go back."

"It's hard to say right now," he tells her, softening his tone.

"Maybe I'll plan the trip for the three of us and if you can make it… great."

Ted watches her go, her long, pale blue nightgown dragging on the floor behind her. He goes to where the calendar is on the table and flips backward to the beginning of the year. It feels like he should have to flip so many more pages to count how long they've been in California. It's been so little time that it should feel new and exciting, and none of them should be looking for the chance to leave.

x

The team has less than forty-eight hours to perfect the idea Sunkist is sold on. While Peggy plans to stay long enough to do the final pitch, she has to prep someone to be her stand-in for all the time she can't be in Los Angeles. She doesn't know the small creative team well but working closely with any of them is better than working closely with only Ted.

As if on cue, he appears outside the open door with a small, white paper bag in his hand. "How's your morning been so far?" Ted asks.

"Fine," Peggy tells him. "I already put a call in to casting. You'll be set for next week if they sign off."

Ted pads across the floor and holds the bag up, giving it a gentle shake. "You've barely left the office to see L.A. so I brought a little bit of L.A. to you."

She squints, trying to read the logo on the center of the bag. The black ink is small, cursive writing and nearly impossible to decipher from the design of swirls that surrounds it.

Ted opens the top of the bag and points it toward her. The smell of fresh baked pastry, butter and cinnamon tickles her senses and makes Peggy aware of how hungry she is. "It's from a bakery a few blocks away. It was in a movie," he explains, handing the bag to her. "Don't ask me which one. Everything's claim to fame is being in a movie and I can't keep up."

"Who cares as long as it tastes as good as it smells," she remarks, peeking inside the bag to the gooey cinnamon roll that tempts her from the bottom. "Thank you."

He backs up, stopping at the door to say, "I'll be in my office most of the day. See Moira if you need anything."

She nods. She feels a pang in her chest at how hard Ted is trying to be professional, at how well he succeeds until he doesn't. She loves being applauded by the partners back in New York, and being seen as a heroine by the L.A. branch. But Peggy knows all too well what her presence is doing to Ted because she feels it all the same.

x

The hours leading up to the meeting are different for Peggy than for the other staff hanging around to see how it goes. She is confident in the work and most of all, she's ready to leave. When Franklin and Hodges sign off on the pitch and put it all into production, Peggy will celebrate with everyone, but mostly she'll be relieved to put the California trip to bed.

Her time has been measured not only in cups of coffee and cocktails with orange juice, but in how many times Ted walked by her office. How often she turned the wrong direction to the restroom to see what he was doing behind his desk. Peggy knows neither of them can function that way and spends the hours before the meeting preparing to put it all to an end.

She pinpoints the one copywriter she can rely on to leave with the most responsibility. She decides to ship Lloyd's art to the New York office for Stan to tinker with. She accepts the notion of possibly adjusting her schedule to match the West Coast office's hours of operation – to be of counsel to their copywriters when needed. Peggy hopes her success in L.A. will be enough leverage to convince the partners they need her focus to be on the clients located in New York.

x

Everyone hides in the kitchen with a cold jug of orange juice and several bottles of champagne while Moira prepares the conference room. They chatter nervously and offer Peggy a cocktail, but she declines. "Better get in there," she says, and they all wish her good luck. She stops in the women's room to freshen her lipstick and by the time she reaches the conference room, Franklin and Hodges are already seated at the table.

"Hello. I'm sorry I'm late," Peggy says, smiling when the men stand to greet her.

"You're fine," Hodges says. "We're early. I guess you could say we're excited to get started."

Ted interjects, "That's good to hear. We've been looking forward to this meeting since our dinner the other night."

The floor is handed over to Peggy. She earns laughter and nods of approval during her pitch. Ted shifts to the edge of his seat, watching her with admiration and enthusiasm. He wants to stand up and tell her that he always knew she was good but she is amazing. His excitement manifests in his foot bouncing on the floor and Pete shoots him a look when it borders on being distracting.

When Peggy wraps up and takes her seat, Hodges folds his hands over the table and says, "I don't think it's any secret we love it. I guess the only thing left is to sign on a dotted line somewhere?"

x

The party has already begun by the time Pete returns from walking the executives out. He beckons Moira to place a call to the New York office on speaker and everyone shares the good news with Cuter and Sterling.

Pete retrieves another carton of juice from the fridge and adds it to his champagne flute. He offers to refill Peggy's glass but she puts her hand over the top and shakes her head. It's not yet five o'clock and it's her last full day in Los Angeles. She has yet to pack her bags or use the pool or take a moment to experience anything about being in a different city outside of the office.

She sets her glass down on a table that is sticky with juice and liquor. Peggy finds her purse and says to Pete, "I'm going to head out."

"You can't leave!" Pete shouts. "You're the reason we're having this party."

"That's not true," Peggy rebukes.

He raises his glass in salute to her. "Will we see you tomorrow?"

"I have enough time to come by before I head to the airport," she says, and she notices Ted's eyes follow her path out of the room.

x

"I need to make a call," Ted says to no one in particular. He finishes the last sour drink of orange juice and whatever liquor the secretaries started adding to the cocktails. He leaves the glass on the edge of a random desk as he weaves through the modest but loud party, seeking the privacy of his office.

Ted stands behind his desk and dials home. Nan answers on the fifth ring and he says, "I'm sorry I didn't call sooner. I don't know when I'll be home."

"Alright," Nan replies. "I hope you're not hungry."

His immediate impulse is to blast her for not understanding why he's late on this particular day after he stressed the importance of the Sunkist meetings, but Ted controls the urge. He says, "We did have some food at the meeting."

"How did it go?"

Ted sits in his chair. He's puzzled by Nan's tone – she sounds distracted, disinterested. It sounds like she's probably holding the phone between her cheek and shoulder, freeing her hands to read a magazine or continue a game of rummy with one of the boys. "It was a success," Ted tells her. "We're moving forward and I think the campaign will-"

"I'm sorry, honey. What did you say?"

"What's going on there?"

There is a noise, a rustle of fabric, and Nan explains, "I'm getting ready to go to dinner with Alice from down the street. Remember? The boys already ate and I tried to save you some chicken, but there's not much."

"Oh, right," Ted says. He does remember the conversation. "Is Alice's daughter still available to come to the house?"

"Yes, although Eddie says he doesn't need a babysitter."

Ted smiles and starts to ask how the boy is feeling, but Nan cuts him off and says, "I hear the doorbell."

He tells her to enjoy her night out and hears the buzz of the dial tone before he says goodbye.

x

The pool is crowded when Peggy first arrives back at the hotel. By the time she changes into her bathing suit and returns, most of the families are fleeing to get ready for dinner.

She leaves her towel, sandals and room key on a chaise lounge. Peggy dips her toe in the shallow end – the temperature is moderately cool, just enough of a salve to the intense sun. She submerges herself in the water, climbing down the metal ladder until she feels the rough texture of the pool's floor scratch her feet.

Peggy glances side to side, noting the location of a couple teenagers treading water in the deep end and an older man wading his way toward a floating raft. She bends her knees and feels the water quiver under her chin. She lets her limbs go slack, her body sinking lower until she's submerged. She holds her breath until her lungs burn and then breaks the surface. Peggy kicks away from the wall to get going and swims her way to the deep end.

x

He dials her room number from the house phone in the lobby. Ted hangs up when she doesn't answer and dials again, just to make sure he pushed the right numbers. He wanders toward the hotel bar and scans the few patrons. He feels like an intruder but nobody stops him from walking further into the Biltmore and ending up on the patio by the pool.

Ted spots her immediately. She is reclining on a raft, floating slowly along the edge of the pool. Peggy's eyes are closed and her arms rest at her sides, one hand dipping down into the water every so often. He walks toward the pool as she slides off the raft and dives underwater. He watches Peggy's lithe frame glide to the ladder on the opposite side from where he stands.

She emerges with a splash and ascends the small ladder. Ted notes that her bathing suit is simple – one piece, black, with a scooped back that exposes the exquisite shape of her shoulder blades. It's the simplicity of the swimsuit that makes it sexy and he tugs at the knot in his tie when Peggy turns and walks toward him, leaving a trail of small footprints along the concrete.

Ted realizes he's standing next to the chaise lounge where she's stashed her belongings. He picks up the white towel and holds it out toward her. Peggy bunches it in her hands and presses her face into the soft cotton. She ties it around her waist and drops her sandals onto the concrete.

He says, "You left before I could tell you…"

The words he can't manage to speak hang between them. It makes the heat of the sun seem more intense and brighter, and they both squint against the light. Beads of water glisten on Peggy's chest. She looks away sharply and slips her feet into her sandals. She brushes past him, heading into the hotel. Ted sees that she's left her room key and snatches it, chasing after her.


	7. Chapter 7

**VII.**

The elevator opens on the eighteenth floor and Ted scans both sides of the long hallway. The jagged edge of the room key digs into his palm and he wonders if Peggy left it on purpose. He follows the room numbers etched into gold-plated signs and walks at a brisk pace until he has to round the corner. He stops short, finding Peggy leaning against the wall outside of room 1830. Her towel is folded haphazardly over her arm and her sandals are off. Ted thinks she looks like something out of a painting, reposed against the backdrop of floral wallpaper – her hair slicked back, the bathing suit stretched tight across her chest, bare legs, and face sun-kissed pink.

Peggy remains silent. Ted extends his arm, holding the key on his upturned palm. She takes it and the brush of her fingertips sends a shiver down his spine. He keeps his distance while she unlocks the door. He's not convinced she's inviting him into the room even as Peggy holds the door, not letting go of the knob until he crosses the threshold.

Her back is to him as she locks the door and tosses her towel onto the bed. Ted swallows against the lump that constricts his throat; all he can think about is tracing the outline of her swimsuit, his fingers travelling over the sharp bones of her shoulder blades and down to where the material rests at the small of her back.

The two of them stand on opposite sides of the room. They don't look like they belong in the same space – Peggy in a damp one-piece with bare feet, Ted in a dress shirt and tie. She is the first to break the silence, asking him, "What were you going to say? By the pool?"

He is thrown by the question. He can't find his voice and his tongue is too thick for his parched mouth. Ted closes his eyes for a moment, composing himself, trying to remember the previous few minutes that feel like a lifetime ago. "Well," he stammers, "I was going to say that you left before I could tell you…"

Peggy holds her hand up, letting Ted know it's okay if he showed up at the Biltmore not knowing what he wanted to say in the first place. She doesn't want him to thank her for doing her job or tell her how much he appreciates her making the trip under such difficult circumstances. She doesn't want him to speak for the sake of having something to say.

"I thought I could get back to New York unscathed," she says.

"Unscathed?"

"Without a scratch," Peggy defines her use of the word in a raspy whisper. She takes a step closer and the movement is enough to free him, to uproot his feet from the carpet. They meet in the middle and Peggy lifts her arms to circle around his shoulders. Ted's hands press against her exposed back, his fingers tracing down the curve of her spine and sliding under the edge of the swimsuit. Their mouths meet in a bruising kiss – too eager, too fraught with the hours and days and weeks they've been unable to touch.

They break apart suddenly. They are both jarred by the weight of the moment, the intensity of the kiss and the ache it stirs – the pain and the ecstasy of finally being able to touch.

She rests her hands on his chest. The front of Ted's shirt is wrinkled and damp. She thinks about the last time she was so close to him, his heart thrumming against her hand. _You should go home_. Peggy feels those words tickle the back of her throat; saying them again would be the smart thing, the moral thing, but she loosens the knot in his tie until she can tug it out from under the collar and discard it on the floor. She thinks about the agony of the conversation when Ted broke the news about leaving New York – having the rug pulled out from under her feet, feeling foolish for ever believing a word he said to begin with – and how for months she wondered what their night together would have been like if she'd known it was going to be the first and last time.

Peggy pops the topmost button of Ted's shirt and then the next while he yanks the material out from under his belt. She shoves the dress shirt down his arms while he kicks his shoes off. Peggy grips the hem of his cotton undershirt and decides this time she will spend every second with him knowing it is the last.

The shirt falls at Ted's feet and he frames her face with his hands, pulling her toward him, seeking the heat of her mouth. He could kiss her for hours – enjoying the way the press of her lips is tender and then fierce with need, the soft slide of her tongue, the whispered moan that vibrates in the back of her throat – but Ted is overcome by knowing the only barrier between Peggy's skin and his is her bathing suit.

His mouth trails kisses along her neck, across her collarbone. Ted tugs one strap down her shoulder and his lips linger there. He can smell the chlorine from the pool and it stirs something in him; somehow that chemical scent is beautiful, raw, and he knows it will always evoke this certain memory for him.

Ted hooks his finger under the other strap, pulling it down until he reveals her breasts. Peggy shivers at the combination of the cool air on her dampened skin and the heat from Ted's mouth. He drops to his knees in front of her, peeling the suit down her torso, over her hips. She feels the material tangled around her ankles and kicks it to the side.

Ted's hands hold her at the waist and he presses his face to her stomach. He's aware of how much more dressed he is than Peggy – his arousal strains against the confines of two layers of fabric. But he can't let go of her. He lowers his head. He spreads his hands at her lower back, sliding them down until he's gripping her bottom, holding her in place. Ted's tongue darts out to taste between her legs, eliciting a surprised, pleased gasp from Peggy. One of her hands grips his right shoulder, the other grabs a handful of his hair. She feels all the tension in her body draw together and throb between her legs.

Peggy's knees weaken and Ted stands. He lifts her, urging her legs to lock around his waist. Her body is a bundle of exposed nerves and the friction of his pants on her naked flesh amplifies her need for him. He backs her up against the nearest wall and when Ted's mouth closes around the tip of her breast, she grinds against him.

The sound of her reacting to his touch makes Ted thrust forward, aching for her. He feels Peggy drop her legs, easing her feet to the floor. She grips his belt and urges him to switch places with her. They spin once, Ted pressing his back to the wall. He bangs his head when she cups him through the confining layers of fabric. He squeezes his eyes shut and then hears the clink of the metal belt buckle, the whoosh of the leather pulled free of the loops, and then her hands yank his pants and boxers down his hips to the floor.

They cling to one another, kissing and fumbling their way to the bed. They collapse in a tangle of limbs across the center of the mattress, their feet hanging off the side. Peggy maneuvers until her small frame is stretched across his body. His hand latched at the back of her neck, Ted lifts his head to kiss her.

Peggy flattens her palm to his chest for leverage as she sits up, locking her thighs around him. Ted bites down on his tongue when she lifts her hips and then sinks down. The suddenness of it, the pace at which Peggy moves up and down, blurs Ted's vision and steals his breath. He fights to contain himself and focuses on her face – hooded eyes, teeth pinching her swollen bottom lip. There's something cathartic in Peggy's focus, in the way she moves; she makes a fist, digging her knuckles into his chest, marking his pale skin. She tightens around him, finding her release with a sharp hiss of breath between her teeth.

Ted can't deny his desire any longer. His hips buck. He grunts as a tremor courses through his body. Peggy falls forward, her head landing on his shoulder, and their rigid bodies begin to relax.

She rolls to the side a bit, nestled against him, one knee bent over his thigh. He curls his arm around her, his fingers drawing circles over her hipbone. Ted tries to catch his breath but it proves difficult as he becomes keenly aware of all the parts of her body touching his.

Peggy's hand settles over his heart. She asks if he's been able to do any flying since the move. "Only once," he admits sadly. "And that was for a client."

He asks about her apartment, the neighborhood. Ted brushes his fingertips up and down her arm, to her delicate wrist, and then covers her hand with his. She feels the leather band of his wristwatch and begins to remove it. "What are you doing?" he asks, amused by the determined look on her face as she wrestles with the latch.

Peggy tosses the watch over their heads and it lands somewhere on the floor. "I don't want to think about what time it is."

He nods in agreement. He thinks about all of the nights he's longed for her, kept himself from crumbling by imagining she was with him. Ted rolls over, pinning Peggy under his weight. He gazes down at her. He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. He kisses her forehead, the bridge of her nose, skims across her lips and down to the hollow of her shoulder. Ted is reverent. He takes his time, his mouth and hands exploring every inch of her.

She arches her back when he reaches her chest, his tongue lashing across one nipple and then the other. Peggy secures a hand at the back of Ted's head and holds him there – holds onto the bliss of what he can do to her with his mouth.

He maneuvers swiftly off the bed, keeping his hands firmly latched at her hips as his knees hit the floor. He pulls Peggy to the edge of the mattress until her legs drape over his shoulders. His face scratches the inside of her thigh. She grips handfuls of the bedspread when he resumes what he'd started earlier, as he'd undressed her – his tongue fills her, tastes her, sparks waves of pleasure through her body.

x

Ted and Peggy fell asleep when the sun was still spilling vibrant light through the open curtains, and Peggy wakes later to the softer glow of dusk. She didn't sleep for very long and doesn't want to let it happen again. She crawls to the bottom corner of the bed, dragging a sheet with her and wrapping it loosely around her torso. Ted is asleep on his stomach and she watches the rise and fall of his shoulders. Peggy's eyes drift to where a sliver of the sheet barely covers his backside. She pinches the soft material and pulls it slowly away from him.

The slight movement stirs Ted. His eyes open and a sleepy, satisfied smile plays on his lips. But it disappears when he realizes the space next to him is empty and he shifts frantically on the mattress, sitting up with a start.

Peggy smiles. "I'm right here."

He sighs and crawls toward her, one hand cupping the back of her head and the other curling around her back. Ted kisses her fiercely, as if they hadn't just spent the last few hours devouring one another. Peggy slips a hand between their chests and whispers, "I could order room service."

Ted leans back and nods. "A picnic in bed."

She plants a kiss on his cheek before disentangling herself from the sheet, leaving it in a heap on the edge of the bed. She stands in front of the window, framed by the blush of a pink sky, a deep blue slowly swallowing the light.

Ted presses a fist to his chest, pushing against the ache that makes his heart hammer. He can hear the ticking of a clock. He ignores it by studying Peggy's bare backside as she peruses the menu and dials the phone. He is overcome by need and the cruelty of time and Ted's feet hit the floor with a thud. He is suddenly behind her, stealing the phone. "We'll call back," he says into the receiver, fumbling to hang up the phone and get his arms wrapped around her.

Peggy leans back and feels him harden against her. She gasps quietly when one of his arms scrapes across her chest, his hand cupping one breast while the other presses firmly to her stomach. His mouth is warm against her neck and he trails small, biting kiss down to her shoulder.

She turns around in the loop of his arms. Ted reaches out to sweep the menu and a decorative box of hotel stationery from the desk. Pieces of paper scatter across the carpet. He lifts Peggy onto the desk, her legs wrapping around him. The furniture bangs against the wall with each thrust. The force of their movements inches the phone closer to the edge of the desk until it crashes to the floor.

x

They refuse to fall asleep. Ted and Peggy keep each other awake talking about the books he is reading and what movies she has seen. They take a shower, embracing under the warm spray of water, enveloped in steam. Afterward Peggy places a return call to room service and the two of them sit in the middle of the bed, a spread of fruit salad and chocolate filled croissants taking up the small space between them.

Ted tries not to think about what will happen after he inevitably has to leave the hotel room. He sees Peggy pluck a strawberry from the bowl and reach across to feed it to him. The sheet loosely covering her naked body pools around her waist and he can't help but think _This is how it could be all the time_.

Peggy is facing the window and takes note of how a lighter shade of blue bleeds into the dark sky. She begrudgingly reaches to the bedside table to turn the clock around and knows daybreak is fast approaching. She watches him tear a piece of croissant for himself, the dark chocolate oozing from the center of flaky pastry onto the plate. She thinks about how much Ted is enjoying the food, the amount of pleasure the two of them have shared in the bed and the shower and on the desk and almost every surface in the room. Peggy's eyes well with tears, her lashes thick and wet.

"Peggy…" Ted clears the plates from between them and sits up on his knees.

"I'm okay," she says, pressing the back of her hand to her eyes, absorbing the tears before they drip down her face. "I was just thinking about how I tried not to let this happen. I didn't want to give you anything. You were the one who walked away. You moved across the country _not_ to be with me."

"I couldn't destroy my family," he counters. He looks down. "I think all the time about what would have happened if I had never gone home that night. Part of me wants to be able to tell you that I'd still be in New York and we'd be together, but I don't know, Peggy. There is so much to consider. There are three other-"

Peggy interrupts, "You don't have to explain. I get it, I do. I didn't like it and I guess I still don't but I understand. But I don't want to make you pay for that. I realize that I don't want to play some kind of game and deny you, or get some kind of revenge. I love you."

Peggy says it so clearly, so matter-of-factly, and Ted is struck by what a fact it is. He could move to the other end of the earth and he would still love her and she would still love him. His chin quivers and Peggy crawls forward, closing the gap between them, framing his face with her hands. "Don't," she whispers. "I don't want a big, emotional goodbye." She forces a smile. "I want us to be happy right here." She couldn't vocalize her intent properly. Peggy knows that she wants this part of them – the romance, the bliss – to stay in the room. She wants to be able to go back to New York and believe that her and Ted are somehow still making love in the bed and eating French toast and gazing out the window and contemplating using the pool but deciding instead to share a bath.

"Okay," Ted says. "We'll say goodbye in the office with everyone else."

She kisses him then – the sweet taste of berries on his lips, the smell of soap and shampoo still fresh in the air – and hopes that he understands.

x

Peggy and Ted leave the room at the same time, without ceremony. He carries one of her bags and sets it near the front desk in the lobby. She waits for the clerk to check out and Ted says, "I better get to the office. I'll see you there."

She nods. "Yes, see you soon."

Ted walks to the revolving doors. He stops and considers looking back at her. He proceeds on, not wanting to dwell on the image of her checking out, taking steps to depart. It will be easier to say goodbye at the office under the guise of seeing a visiting employee off to the airport with everyone else. An emotional, private goodbye would be torture.

Peggy completes her check-out and throws a glance over her shoulder. Seeing that Ted is gone, she reaches into her purse. She removes two sheets of the Biltmore stationery and an envelope she had plucked from the mess on the floor in her room. "Excuse me," she says to the clerk. "Do you have any stamps I could buy?"

The young man opens a drawer and says, "How many do you need?"

"Just one."

He hands Peggy a stamp. "On the house."

"Thank you," she says, adhering it to the corner of the envelope. "Could I also trouble you for a pen?"

He finds one for her and asks if she needs a taxi. "I will," Peggy tells him. "Can I leave my bags for a few minutes?"

The clerk nods and Peggy heads for the restaurant with the pen, paper and stamped envelope. She takes a seat at the bar and orders a cup of coffee. The tip of the pen hovers over the cream colored paper while she struggles to focus, finding it difficult to pull herself from the fresh memories of what transpired in room 1830.

x

He manages to go through the lobby and past reception without being noticed. Ted is relieved that Moira is away from her desk when he slips into his office. He doesn't have a clean shirt, but he does recall ending up with an extra tie and finds it in the bottom of a drawer.

Ted walks to the kitchen to get his own coffee, hoping to be in the main hallway when Peggy arrives. He loiters around and makes conversation with the receptionist, tags behind Lloyd to the lounge. "Wonder if Ms. Olson has arrived yet?" Ted asks, thinking he sounds overeager in his attempt to be casual.

Lloyd shrugs and takes a sip of his coffee. "When she gets here let me know," he says over the rim of the mug, turning and leaving out the other door.

Ted sighs. The room is quiet, and he realizes the entire office seems less lively than it did all week. He wanders back to the main hallway and finds Moira back at her desk. "Good morning. I'm afraid there may have been a mix-up. I think Peggy is expecting us to send a car to bring her to the office and then to the airport," Ted says, a pang in his chest at how easily he concocts a lie to cover his anxiety over what's taking Peggy so long. "Would you please call the Biltmore and have Peggy take a cab here at our expense?"

"Yes, Mr. Chaough," Moira says, finding the paperwork on Peggy's trip to get the hotel's phone number.

Ted stands to the side of her desk while she makes the call.

Moira hangs up after exchanging a few words with the front desk. She looks at Ted and tells him, "Ms. Olson checked out and they said she got in a cab to the airport about a half hour ago."

He lifts a hand, scratching above his eyebrow with his thumb nail. Ted feels hot under the collar of his wrinkled shirt. He starts walking away and then reels back. "Thank you, Moira." He heads into his office, sealing the door shut and seeking the comfort of the couch. He props his elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

_I don't want a big, emotional goodbye. I want us to be happy right here. _

Ted drops his hands and leans back against the cushions. He recalls when Peggy chastised him in the New York office for being the one to have all the decisions to make, and he knows he can't begrudge her the decision not to say goodbye.

The intercom buzzes. Moira says something about a meeting with Sheraton, but it dawns on Ted that he hasn't checked in with Nan after not coming home the night before. He curses under his breath and is somewhat relieved to know it's not as easy to come up with his second lie of the morning.


	8. Chapter 8

_This is a rather uneventful chapter – especially after what happened in the previous installment. Thank you for reading and for all the lovely comments!_

**VIII.**

The letter appears on his desk mixed in with an envelope of headshots from casting and a bundle of copy for the upcoming meeting with Sheraton. Ted dismisses it at first, but it's the imprint of The Biltmore's logo on the envelope that makes him dig it back out from the bottom of the pile.

He turns his chair to face the window and carefully rips the paper. Ted unfolds the letter and smiles at the sight of Peggy's infamously sloppy writing. He can tell that she tried to make it neat.

_The reason I decided not to come back to the office isn't because I didn't want to see you or talk to you. There were a lot of reasons. I had to leave what happened between us in the room and not take it to the office. _

_I believe we can work together on Sunkist when we need to and I believe we can remain professional. _

_I don't have any regrets. I'm grateful for everything that happened. I think it had to happen. I think we understand each other now and can move forward. _

_-P_

Ted slips the letter back into the envelope. He wonders what moving forward looks like to Peggy, because it's something he can't picture for himself.

x

Peggy has been home from California for several days. She feels tired, like she's in a fog. Ginsberg says she needs to see a doctor because he doubts jetlag should occur from such a short trip and definitely shouldn't last so long. She lets him think she's under the weather but Peggy knows her demeanor is because most of her is still locked in a luxurious room at the Biltmore.

The creative team is meeting with Cutler, Sterling and Ken for a brief on new accounts. Sunkist gets a throwaway mention and afterward, Stan says to her, "I guess your celebrity status is over."

Peggy shrugs it off. She's glad her phone hasn't been ringing. She wants the campaign to succeed but she is hopeful the team in L.A. can function without her constant input and direction.

She is carrying a plate of food from the kitchen to her office when she sees Lou Avery entering Don's old office. She knows from Stan that Lou didn't make a single appearance while she was out of town. Peggy changes direction and approaches the open door, knocking on the frame.

"Peggy, hello," he says, handing his hat and coat to Dawn.

Peggy makes small talk with him. She mentions California, giving him the opportunity to congratulate her on Sunkist. Instead he wants her to make sure the team has all of the mock-ups for Avon ready three days earlier as he takes a seat behind the desk.

She carries her plate of food and stops at Phyllis' desk. "Do you want a ham sandwich?" Peggy asks her.

Phyllis eyes the plate curiously. "What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing. I just need to get out of here for a while."

Stan appears behind her and pipes in with, "You just spent a week in sunny California."

She throws him a look – rolling her eyes, nostrils slightly flared. Peggy looks back at Phyllis and says, "I'll be back in an hour."

x

Ted peels the edge of his sleeve back to see the time and is reminded he doesn't have his watch. He knew it was gone a few hours after leaving the Biltmore and couldn't bring himself to go back there so soon. He was caught off guard the next night at dinner when Thomas noticed he wasn't wearing it, and because it had been a Father's Day gift the boys were upset to think it was gone for good.

"Don't worry, I'll find it. I took it off to wash my hands at work. I'm sure I know right where I left it," Ted had lied. It is one lie in a pile of them, a pile that grows each day, threatening to topple over on him.

Ted keeps a mental log of the phone conversation he had with Nan after not coming home or calling the night he spent with Peggy. He apologized for not checking in, admitted the agency got carried away celebrating Sunkist ("You know how I get after one too many cocktails."), and made up a story about spending the night on Pete Campbell's couch. Nan dislikes Pete, and Ted doesn't think she'll ever go out of her way to discuss it with him. But every so often Ted replays the conversation in his head, double checking that he didn't slip and mention Peggy, and to be sure he doesn't contradict himself in the future.

It is exhausting and troubling. He knows he appears distracted every morning at the breakfast table. He knows he is detached at night when he and Nan are alone in their bedroom.

Ted stands and exits his office, telling Moira, "I'm going out for lunch."

It's the truth but he thinks it sounds like a lie.

x

The lunch crowd is gone when Peggy enters the diner and takes a seat at the counter. She orders a tuna melt. She picks up a copy of Time magazine left on the seat next to her. She scrolls the table of contents and turns to a story about the trial of Bobby Kennedy's assassin.

Peggy hears a young, female voice behind her get the attention of the waitress, saying, "My brother spilled his milkshake. Can I have a towel?"

"I'll clean it up, dear," the waitress says.

Peggy spins her stool around, locking eyes with the girl. "Sally?"

Sally Draper's eyes narrow. She looks over her shoulder and then back at Peggy.

The girl's silence makes Peggy second guess herself. She hasn't seen Don's daughter in a couple of years, and the photographs on his desk rarely changed, leaving Sally a perpetual nine year old behind the glass. This girl is taller, with a more slender face and a deeper voice, without the affectations of a child. "I'm Peggy," she offers. "I used to work… I work with your dad."

The wrinkles disappear from Sally's forehead, recognition softening her eyes. "I remember."

"How are you?" Peggy asks.

Sally begins to issue a generic response, but Peggy's attention strays to the corner booth where the waitress slaps a wet rag onto the messy table. She sees that Don has stood up from the orange vinyl seat and has been watching their exchange.

"Sally, you remember Ms. Olson," Don says, coming up behind his daughter and squeezing her shoulders.

The girl nods, disinterested.

"Go keep an eye on your brothers," Don instructs her. He moves to stand between Peggy and the empty stool beside her. He leans down, spreading his arms. The hug catches Peggy off guard and it takes her a moment to reciprocate, lifting up off her seat to sling an arm around his shoulders. "You look well," he says, pulling back and sitting down.

Peggy smiles. "Thank you. So do you." She's unable to hide the surprise in her voice. He does look well – leaner, clean-shaven, color to his skin. He's wearing tan slacks and a short-sleeved shirt, and Peggy can't remember if he always looked so much younger out of a suit. She casts a look at the booth where his three children sit, the boys craning their necks over the back of the seat to see what their father is doing. "I can't believe how grown-up Sally is."

"Neither can I."

"How is Megan?" Peggy asks after she catches the light glinting off the gold band on Don's hand.

He rests his forearm on the counter. "She's doing well. She's back and forth to California quite a lot."

"I was just there," Peggy blurts.

He grins, recalling how excited she was about a trip to Virginia during her first days at CGC. "For work or pleasure?" he asks.

The color drains from Peggy's face. She reaches for her glass, taking a sip of the tepid water. "Work," she answers after a beat, her voice cracked. She takes another sip. "For Sunkist."

Don nods and she can see him doing the math in regards to Ted, but he keeps quiet on that front. "How is Lou Avery?" he asks, not bothering to hide his contempt.

Peggy rolls her eyes. "I couldn't really tell you," she says and leaves it at that.

"Dad! We don't want to be late for the movie!" Bobby yells from the booth.

Don stands up, signaling at him to wait a minute. He tells Peggy, "We're seeing The Love Bug."

She hops down from the stool. "Oh, have fun. It was good to see you."

"You too," he says, reaching out and squeezing her arm.

Peggy's lips part - a question on the tip of her tongue that she can't formulate into words.

"I'll be seeing you soon," Don tells her softly. He bends forward and presses a kiss to her temple.

It all happens so fast – the shock of seeing him, his serene demeanor, and the ease of his friendly kiss – that Peggy doesn't have time to dwell on the animosity that ruled their last encounter. She sits down, turning on the stool to face the door. She watches Don wrangle the boys out onto the sidewalk. Sally stops in the doorway and looks back at her, offering a meek wave. Peggy can see them through the pastel colored words painted on the window, advertising milkshakes and every type of pie imaginable. She watches Don kneel, tying his youngest son's shoe and then picking him up, sitting Gene on his shoulders.

Her first instinct is to run back to the office and tell Stan that she ran into Don and to hypothesize about what he meant by _I'll be seeing you soon_. Was it a general pleasantry? Does he have a meeting with the other partners about coming back? But Peggy decides to keep her speculation to herself. She turns back to her meal and magazine, thinking she needs to thank Don for giving her a distraction.

x

He parks across the street from the hotel. Ted gazes at the tall columns that surround the main entrance, finding it imposing when just a few days ago he'd marveled at the architecture. He crosses the street, running halfway.

Ted approaches the front desk. "Checking in?" the clerk asks.

"No, I'm not," Ted explains. "I was here a few days ago and I think I left my watch in one of the rooms."

The clerk excuses himself and walks through a door behind the desk. He returns a moment later and says that no watches have been turned in. "What's your name, sir?"

Ted clears his throat. "The room was registered to Olson. Peggy Olson."

The clerk reviews the records and says, "Room 1830. I'll have someone check. Feel free to have a seat or a drink at the bar."

"Thank you," Ted says. He turns on his heels, walking a familiar path through the lobby and toward the expansive patio. He makes his way to the pool, sitting for a while on a chair under a wide umbrella. He watches a young girl teeter on the diving board, eventually launching into the water at the urging of her father. Ted gets up and stands at the edge of the pool, his polished loafers stepping in a puddle. He inhales the smell of the chlorine and closes his eyes. Vivid images flash behind his lids – Peggy breaking the surface of the water, beads of moisture dripping down her chest and arms, peeling the damp suit away from her body.

"Excuse me."

A voice breaks his trance and Ted takes a deep breath. He turns around, conjuring a wide smile for the clerk. "Yes?"

"Is this your watch?"

Ted takes it and says, "Yes, thank you. My sons will be relieved to know it's not gone for good."

"Found it under the bed," the young man shares.

He pats his pockets, removes his wallet. "For your trouble," he says, handing the clerk a generous tip.

"Thank you, sir." He tucks the folded bills into his pocket and turns for the door. He stops, waiting to usher Ted into the hotel.

Ted looks back at the pool. He's not a guest and he has no reason to stay, but he wishes the clerk would leave him be. He nods at the young man and steps ahead of him, weaving around the tables and chairs to the door.

x

Peggy's hope to be left alone by SC&P: West is dashed. She has to deal with the Sunkist account almost every day. There are updates on casting, deliveries from Lloyd with copies of the latest art, and two weeks after the trip, Mr. Franklin phones Peggy to ask a question about the commercial's production.

"I won't be there for that, Mr. Franklin," she explains, "although I wish I could be. I'm certain Mr. Chaough will be there to oversee everything."

An hour after the conversation her direct line rings. Peggy is so consumed by the work in front of her that she doesn't take the time to wonder why the call isn't going through Phyllis. She answers on the second ring. "Hello?"

"Peggy. It's Ted."

The receiver almost slips out of her hand. She tightens her grip and turns away from the typewriter. "Hi. Hello."

"I hear you're scheduling meetings for me," he says, punctuating the sentence with a hearty laugh.

"Franklin called you," Peggy guesses. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed you'd be going."

Ted says, "It's alright. I was going to let Dawson handle it but after I spoke to Franklin I had Moira clear my schedule."

She is quiet, tipping the receiver away from her mouth so he can't hear her labored breathing. Peggy doesn't know what to say, what he might be hoping she will say. But then Ted starts talking about the casting of the young boy, and Peggy is laughing at a story about one of his line readings almost changing the entire campaign. Soon she is putting Ted on speaker to free her hands to pour a drink.

"Well," he says, "it's getting late there. I should let you get back to work."

"Yes," Peggy agrees. "Let me know how the shoot goes."

Ted says goodnight and Peggy ends the call. She suddenly remembers Stan had asked her to meet him across the street for a beer and she is almost thirty minutes late. Peggy fishes for her compact, patting the round powder puff against her forehead and around her nose. She adds a fresh layer of lipstick and smiles at her reflection. She gets up, turning off the light, leaving the office feeling good about the conversation with Ted. She hopes the phone call was his response to her letter – that they have reached an understanding and can move forward, putting work at the forefront.

x

The bedroom door is closed when Ted reaches the top of the stairs. He pads down the hall and turns the knob slowly. The small pool of the light from the bedside table is a surprise, as is Nan walking out from behind the open closet door. His relaxed shoulders – relieved to think she was asleep – hunch up around his ears.

"I didn't hear the door," Nan says. "How was your day?"

Ted removes his tie. When he tosses it on the bed, he notices what appear to be a few pamphlets and one thicker text spilling out of a manila envelope. "Fine. Productive," he answers, smiling. "What's this?"

Nan gathers the materials. "Alice gave these to me. She's taking a literature class at UCLA in the fall. I'm thinking about registering."

He nods, recalling when he met Nan. She was studying to be a teacher and always had a book tucked under her arm. "I think that's great," Ted says.

She stands and sets the envelope on the dresser. "It would make me happy," Nan says. She turns and looks at Ted as he sits on the bed, his back to her. "What about you, Ted?"

He doesn't look at her. "Hmm?"

Nan can see how taut his muscles are, how he holds his breath. She stands at the side of the bed. Her hand reaches toward him, but she curls her fingers into her palm and then folds her hands behind her back. "Are you happy here?"

Ted flinches. He becomes aware of how his fingers dig into the bed, turning white around handfuls of the bedspread. He releases his hold and presses his palms flat to the mattress. "What kind of question is that?" he asks, keeping his tone light.

"I think it's a valid question. I know we wouldn't have moved out here if it hadn't been necessary for the agency. You're very… solemn. You say work is going well but it doesn't seem to excite you the way it used to."

He bends forward, wanting to quell the sick feeling that lurches in his stomach. Beads of sweat prick the back of his neck. Ted's mouth goes dry. He can see himself confessing, letting it all spill out – his first night with Peggy, the real reason they left New York, why Sunkist was successful, the Biltmore. "I guess it doesn't," Ted replies. He stands up and unbuttons his shirt, breathing easier without the collar constricting his throat. He wrestles out of the long sleeves and bunches the fabric up on the corner of the bed. "It's difficult with a smaller group. It's an adjustment."

"I'm sure you miss Frank," Nan offers.

His face contorts and he has to turn away from her; the mention of his friend's name and the bare sympathy Nan offers is enough to undo him. He goes to the closest, mindlessly picking through the clothes that hang neatly there.

"Remember when I mentioned taking the boys to New York? I was thinking either the third week in July or the first week in August. If you can join us, that would be-"

"I'll call the New York office in the morning and see when they could use me the most," Ted says. He turns around and begins to remove his undershirt, but when Nan unties her robe and the pale blue satin drops down one shoulder, he pulls the cotton back down over his torso. "I completely forgot about a budget meeting tomorrow."

Nan yanks the robe up and over her shoulder, holding it closed at her chest. "Oh? What could you possibly do about it tonight?"

"I just need a minute to jot a few things down," Ted explains. He kisses her cheek as he brushes past her to the door.


	9. Chapter 9

**IX.**

Two slices of bread spring from the toaster. Ted opens the fridge, looking for the margarine and seeing none. He shuts the door and notices the beginnings of a grocery list Nan stuck under a magnet before she left with the boys for New York – coffee, flour, margarine.

They have been gone for less than two full days and Ted feels guilty for enjoying the quiet. Maybe it's not about enjoying the calm, he thinks, but that he hasn't had to tell any lies in thirty-six hours. He hasn't had to dodge questions about what has him looking off into the distance during a meal, or what's keeping him from sleeping all through the night, or why he only attends church with the family sporadically.

Ted plucks one piece of burnt bread from the toaster and crumbs sprinkle the front of his white cotton T-shirt as he takes an oversized bite. He tops off his coffee and takes his sad excuse for a breakfast to the den. He sits at the desk and picks up the phone.

He plans to call Peggy under the pretense of providing an update on the editing of the Sunkist commercials, and when she tells him that Dawson already told her, he will say, "I'm sorry. Now that you say that… I think he did mention he called you."

"Peggy Olson's office. Phyllis speaking. How may I help you?"

"Phyllis, good morning. It's Ted Chaough."

"Hello, Mr. Chaough."

"Is Ms. Olson available to talk?"

Phyllis confirms she is free and puts the call through. Ted feels like he waits a long time for Peggy to pick up. He looks at the wisp of steam rising from the coffee, at the burnt toast shedding crumbs on the desk and carpet. He scrapes his thumbnail across the crisp edge of the bread. His hand knocks into the mug when Peggy's voice finally reaches his ear.

"Ted. Good morning."

He smiles. The little skit he authored in his head is erased by the sound of her voice and the image it conjures – Peggy wheeling away from the typewriter to answer the phone, one nylon-clad leg crossed over the other as she settles in her chair. He takes a drink of coffee to wet his bone-dry mouth. "Good morning. Although I suppose it's closer to afternoon there."

"Close," Peggy replies softly. There is such a long stretch of silence that she asks, "Ted? What did you need to talk about?"

He remembers telling Cutler that his trip has to be seventy-five percent a family vacation and that nobody at SC&P East should expect him to be in the office more than two or three times. Never for an entire day. "I think Jim told you I could attend the meeting with Koss but it's going to be difficult to fit it in," Ted says. "I can make it work if you think I should be there."

"Stan is going. I think we'll be okay."

"Thank you, that helps. With my schedule."

"I'm sure you have a lot of friends and family to see while you're here."

Ted holds the phone away for a moment, long enough to take a deep breath before he says, "Yes, I do. I don't expect to see much of the office this week." He hears commotion in the background, a door opening and muffled voices. He anticipates what she'll say next and tells her, "I should finish packing. Let me know if you need me at that meeting. Moira is still handling my schedule while I'm in New York."

"Okay. We can fill you in if there's time while you're here."

"Yes, that would be good." Ted pauses, listening to the rattle of her breath and the impatient voice that calls for Peggy to hurry up.

Peggy covers the phone with her hand and Ted thinks she tells someone to wait by the elevator. Her voice comes back to him, clear and distinct when she says, "Have a safe trip, Ted."

He thanks her and is the first to say goodbye, the first to hang up.

x

It's been an unusual August – gloomy skies and storms. Peggy stands at the window and looks down at the wet pavement, at the collection of colorful umbrellas shielding New Yorkers from the downpour. She's already heard a couple jokes about how that's what Chaough gets for vacationing back home, for wanting to be a tourist in the city he abandoned for the eternal sun and sand of Los Angeles. Peggy joins in the good-natured laughter each time and then turns from the group, hiding the anxiety that pinches wrinkles between her eyes.

She's tried to find subtle ways to ask around the office about whether or not Ted has checked in with anyone, and Peggy realizes how she's failed when Joan sidles up to the window and says, "Ted scheduled a late meeting with the partners. He should be here in twenty minutes." She plucks a loose thread from the sleeve of Peggy's dress. "It sounds like his plans are changing with the weather."

Peggy folds her arms across her chest. "I have an appointment," she lies, turning away from the window, her shoes tapping a hasty pattern across the floor.

x

It's not quite seven o'clock but the ominous sky gives the impression it's much later. Peggy stops on the sidewalk in front of the Time Life Building and closes her umbrella. She tips her head back to take in the sight of the charcoal clouds rolling across the gloomy sky. A few plump raindrops pelt her forehead. The water trickles down her temples and she smears it with the back of her hand before it can streak over her eyes, down her cheeks.

Peggy enters the building and shakes the loose drops from her umbrella onto the rug. She makes her way to the elevator, thinking she should have called before coming back to the office. The question of how to act in front of Ted and what to say becomes needless when Peggy exits the elevators onto a quiet, mostly dark floor.

She peeks at every office door on her way inside and finds the lounge to be the only active room. Mathis is slumped over the table and Ginsberg occupies the couch, a notepad on his lap. "Good," he says when Peggy leans against the doorway, "you came to help." He points his pencil at Mathis and adds, "This one became of no use to me five minutes in."

Peggy shakes her head. "I didn't come back to help with Chevy," she tells him. She opens the refrigerator and removes a cold root beer, walking across the room to put the bottle in Ginsberg's hand as a consolation.

She leaves the lounge and guesses the partners made their meeting into a late dinner with drinks. She goes to her office, propping the umbrella near the door to dry. Peggy stops short of sitting when her hand touches the seat and feels something hard and cool to the touch. She picks up the film canister and removes the note taped to the outside.

_Peggy, sorry I missed you. This is raw footage of the Sunkist commercials. Thought you might enjoy a sneak peek. –Ted_

She carries the film under her arm, making her way to the media room. Peggy fumbles to find the light. When it doesn't work, she leaves the door open and uses the weak spray of light from the hallway to see.

x

Ted doesn't want to arrive at the hotel on the cusp of being drunk while Nan and the boys are probably awake and watching television. He knows it's no better to chance an encounter with Peggy at the office, but he walks a crooked line across the empty lobby and presses the up arrow.

He knew it was a bad idea to keep drinking when an Old Fashioned arrived at the table and he'd already lost count of how many drinks he'd downed. It's confirmed as an error in judgment when the elevator lurches to a stop and Ted has to hold onto the wall to steady his legs. He heads straight to the men's room and cups his hand under the faucet, splashing cold water on his face and gulping it down to mend the damage of the alcohol.

Ted doesn't spare a second to look at his reflection in the mirror and ponder his options. He pushes through the heavy door back into the quiet hallway. He tiptoes past the creative lounge, catching a glimpse of Ginsberg asleep on the couch and Mathis slumped in a chair. Peggy's office lights are on and the door is open, but she's not at her desk. The footage he left on her chair is also missing and he heads for the media room.

The door is halfway open and Ted treads lightly, peering into the dim room. She is seated with her back to him. Her feet are propped on the table in front of the screen and various projectors and machines. Peggy is wearing headphones and when she laughs at an outtake involving the young boy, it is loud and candid and makes Ted chuckle along with her.

He slips inside and shuts the door behind him. Peggy doesn't hear anything but the loss of the light from the hallway stuns her and she turns around. The alarmed look on her face shifts gradually to relief and then another kind of panic. She removes the headphones and says, "Hi. You scared me."

"I'm sorry. I guess you like it?" he asks, pointing to the images still playing on the screen.

Peggy nods. "I've already watched everything once."

"It's all being edited now." He holds his breath to conceal a hiccup. "We'll be approving the final versions next week." Ted notices her glass bottle of soda and a napkin with cookie crumbs. It makes him think of watching the moon landing with the boys – bowls of popcorn, sugary drinks not otherwise allowed after dinner, sitting close to the television set. He thought of Peggy then, pictured her watching with people from the office. Ted felt a tightness in his chest that night, allowing himself to accept that Peggy could have been watching it with a man – with a date, a boyfriend, a lover – and he feels it again, seeing her lit only by the glow of the screen.

The images playing out remind them both of California, of collaborating in the office and then exhausting one another in the Biltmore. Ted occupies the stool next to her. The weight of his body rolls the wheels toward Peggy and his knees bump her leg.

She smells mint and the whiskey it's failed to mask. "You're drunk," she whispers, not looking at him.

"I had a few with dinner."

Peggy keeps her focus on the screen. "I didn't think you were going to be around the office very much."

"I'm not. I won't be."

"How was the meeting? Is it still raining?"

Ted says, "Yes. It hasn't stopped."

"And the meeting?" Peggy asks, recognizing the danger in making small talk, in not keeping the conversation focused on work.

The footage comes to an end and the film sputters in the machine. The screen goes black, killing the only light in the room. Peggy's eyes adjust to the dark and she's afraid to tilt her head and see how close Ted is. She feels his hand snake across her back to settle at her hip.

"I don't know how to stay away from you," Ted whispers, his breath hot against her ear.

Warmth spikes up and down Peggy's spine. Ted lifts his other hand to her chest and she arches her back, pushing into his palm. Her clothes feel suddenly too tight and it's a relief when he unhooks a button on the front of her dress. She groans as his fingers slide between the open buttons, rubbing her through the silk of her bra. Peggy turns toward him, her stool sliding out from beneath her as she stands between his legs. Her hands grip his shoulders; his suit is damp from walking in the rain.

Ted grabs handfuls of her short dress, lifting it, bunching the fabric at her hips. She clasps her hands tightly around his face. Peggy drags the pad of her thumb across his bottom lip before she leans down to kiss him.

He stands up and tries to walk her up against the edge of the table. Peggy opens her eyes and can see the small slant of light between the floor and the closed door. The light flickers briefly – a pair of feet crossing in front of the room. Peggy slips a hand between her and Ted's chest. "Stop," she grunts against his mouth. She scrambles to the door, away from him before his kiss can persuade her to keep going.

"I'm sorry," Ted says as he tucks a corner of his wrinkled shirt back under his belt.

"We're not alone here," she reminds him quietly. The two of them stand in the dark, on opposite sides of the small room. "Is this how it's going to be now?" she asks after a long stretch of silence.

"What do you mean?" Ted asks.

Peggy touches a hand to her mouth, feels the fresh bruise of his kiss. "Are we going to keep pretending we can be strong and then give in? And then walk away and act like it won't happen again?"

Ted doesn't have an answer and he's glad Peggy probably can't see the detail of his face – his parted lips already aching for the next time he can kiss her, eyes hooded with lust. He hears the knob turn and Ted buttons his suit jacket as Peggy opens the door. He blinks against the sudden stream of light. She turns toward him and Ted sees the streak of tears down her pale skin.

They both know the answer to her question and Peggy leaves after offering a small, sad smile.

x

The boys have their own room in the suite but when Ted arrives they are asleep in the bed with Nan. Thomas is using her lap as a pillow and Edward is sprawled across most of the mattress, some part of him knocking into Nan every time he moves. Ted knows there was a time he would have crawled into whatever open space he could find on the bed, but when Nan sees him in the doorway he whispers, "Don't wake them. I'll go in their room."

Nan carefully extricates herself from the bed without waking the boys. Her bare feet pad across the carpet, following Ted's path to the other room. She watches him remove his jacket and tie, and his fingers wrestle with the buttons on his shirt. "Did you go to the office?" she asks.

"I did." Ted's response is muffled as he pulls his undershirt over his head.

"You saw Jim? How is he?"

Ted sits on the edge of one of the narrow beds to remove his shoes. "We had dinner. He's… the same as always. He wants to visit L.A."

"Did anyone else go to dinner with you?"

"It was a partners meeting," Ted tells her, and he immediately regrets his harsh tone and the frustrated breath that follows his words. He stands up, retrieves the clothes he shed on the other bed. "I'm going to take a shower."

Nan follows him and takes the clothes from him. "Did Peggy go with you?"

He is glad his back is to Nan. "She's not a partner," he offers, and then, "No, she didn't go to dinner."

The two of them stand, paused in between the two bedrooms, Ted's discarded clothes folded over Nan's arm. Another question hangs between them and when Ted finally turns to look at his wife, he has the words _But I did see her_ on his tongue when Nan says, "Are we still going to see John and Grace tomorrow?"

Ted nods. "Yes. We'll go after breakfast."

x

Peggy spends the day staring at every doorway anticipating an appearance from Ted. Her ears perk at the mention of his name, or what she mishears as his name. She is so distracted during the Koss meeting that Stan intercepts the lead halfway through.

"What happened in there?" Stan asks, even though he knows the answer.

"My throat hurts," Peggy lies, touching her neck. She looks up and sees commotion outside the conference room – a small crowd has gathered at the bottom of the stairs and when a few people filter away, she sees Ted at the center. His eyes lock with hers and Peggy stands, leaving Stan alone in the room with papers fanned out on the table.

Stan rolls his eyes and calls after her, "Sure, I'll take care of all this. You go on."

Peggy stands at the perimeter of the group, listening to Ted answer questions about what his family has been doing so far in New York. Someone asks about Pete and someone wants to know where Ted's tan is.

"What's on the books for tomorrow?" Jim asks.

Ted looks over his friend's shoulder at Peggy when he says, "Nan and the boys will be with her sister. I think I'm going to take the plane out in the morning. It's been collecting dust since the move."

"That will be nice for you," Jim says.

"I scheduled a nine o'clock departure. Looking forward to it." Ted moves to make his way toward Peggy and ask after the Koss meeting when Ken and Roger appear, blocking him. By the time he sidesteps them, Peggy is gone and he is cajoled into his office to discuss budget matters and staffing in the West office.

x

Ted arrives at the airport at eight o'clock sharp. He drinks coffee from a thermos and spends time cleaning up the inside and outside of the plane. He chats with the maintenance crew and is warned to be back before five o'clock. "Calling for more storms," one of them cautions.

"I doubt I'll be gone long at all," Ted says. He slips into his bomber jacket and checks the inside pocket for his aviators.

He turns to climb into the plane when he hears a soft voice from behind ask, "Do you have room for one more?"


	10. Chapter 10

**X.**

Ted is rendered speechless by the sight of Peggy in a sleeveless polka dot top tucked under the waistband of a short skirt. She looks ready for a romantic day trip. Her smile is coy and her cheeks are tinted pink. The familiar smell of her perfume is a welcome reprieve from the masculine smells of metal, sweat, leather and gasoline that permeate the hangar.

"I'm sorry," Peggy says, interpreting his silence as disinterest. "Forget I was here." She turns on her heels, moving so abruptly that she knocks into a tool cabinet propped against the wall. The clatter of wrenches and screwdrivers hitting the ground draws the attention of the crew and Ted puts his hand up, signaling that he'll take care of it.

Ted stoops to pick up the tools. Peggy sets her purse down and follows a large wing nut as it rolls across the oil-stained floor of the hangar, stepping on it to halt its path. Ted is back on his feet, holding out his hand, and Peggy drops it on his palm. He tells her, "I don't want to forget. You surprised me, that's all."

"It was presumptuous of me. It's just that…"

"What?" He takes a step closer.

Peggy looks at the plane and then out in the distance at the runway she imagines as their escape route. "It's exhausting to pretend like I don't want to be with you. Seeing you for a few minutes at the office isn't enough. Being alone in a dark room and hoping nobody walks in isn't enough. I heard you say what time you were taking the plane up and I don't care what it says about me, Ted. I don't care what I told you in that letter. I want to be with you."

He smiles and lifts his arms, wanting to embrace her. Ted reminds himself of where they are – still on the ground – and that people at the White Plains airport know him as a devoted family man and this petite brunette is not his wife. He settles for squeezing Peggy's shoulder and says, "Departure is in five minutes."

"I'm ready."

x

Nan's sister lives in the house where they grew up, but being back in her childhood home is not offering the kind of comfort it usually does. She feels unsettled and can't sit still while her niece and nephew play the piano, and she snaps uncharacteristically at the boys when they ask if they can go for ice cream after lunch.

Her sister notices Nan's sour disposition. "Why don't we take our coffee to the porch?" Lydia suggests, and she instructs her daughter to keep an eye on all three boys.

Lydia wants to know what has Nan so pensive and in such a grim mood during what is supposed to be a family vacation and family reunion. "Is it California? I thought you were growing to like it," Lydia says.

"It's not that," Nan tells her.

Lydia inquires about the boys, the neighbors, the Chaough's new church, and when she runs out of guesses, she asks, "How is Ted adjusting? Is he working even more?"

Nan sets her coffee on the table and folds her arms. "He is. He makes an effort to be home, and while he's with us he looks happy, but I don't know, Lydia. Sometimes I look at Ted and I think he must be sick, but he says he feels fine. I catch him when he doesn't know I'm nearby and he looks miserable."

"Have you talked to him?"

"I told you, I ask him all the time how he feels."

Lydia rests a hand on her sister's knee. "Have you consulted anyone at church? You said you like the reverend."

"He didn't have any advice to offer that I haven't already thought of myself." Nan stands up from her chair and walks to the edge of the patio. She pushes her toes into the soggy grass that surrounds the concrete. The thought plaguing her – the idea that sours her stomach whenever she simply thinks about it that she can't imagine what vocalizing it will do to her – pushes against the roof of her mouth and the inside of her cheeks and suddenly Nan says, "I'm afraid there's someone else."

The sound of Lydia's chair scraping on the concrete makes Nan cringe. "This is _Ted_ we're talking about," Lydia shouts, coming up behind Nan to press a reassuring hand against her back.

"He's changed a lot over the last year," Nan confides.

"Have you asked him about this, Nan?"

Nan shakes her head. She thinks about a crisp fall day when she brought lunch to Ted and Frank at the CGC offices and Peggy Olson was sitting on her husband's sofa, balancing a glass of amber colored liquid on one leg. Nan was introduced to the new Copy Chief then, and after that it was different having a face to the name Ted mentioned so frequently at home (she hates to admit she heard _Peggy Olson_ and pictured someone frumpy, wearing long skirts and buttoned-up blouses, and was surprised to meet a young woman with vibrant skin who wore cute dresses that hit above the knee of her shapely legs). But Nan told herself that Ted was always excited when there was someone new at the office, someone younger he could mentor and impress, and this time it just happened to be a female. She had no reason to worry because like Lydia said _This is Ted we're talking about_.

"I don't think he's having an affair," Nan whispers.

"Then what do you mean you think there's someone else?"

Nan knows all the signs other wives talk about – lipstick on the collar, washing clothes that smell like another woman's perfume. She hasn't had to scrub away pink stains from his shirts or caught a whiff of an unfamiliar scent when he crawls into bed late at night, and Peggy Olson is three thousand miles away. But Ted having another woman in his life explains the faraway look in his eyes and how little they've been intimate with each other since before the move – not just making love, but when was the last time he fell asleep with his arm around her or they sat in bed to read shoulder to shoulder?

"I can't explain it," Nan says. "I told myself for a long time it was because of Frank Gleason's death, but Ted and I have been through loss together before. The way he's acting now is different."

Lydia pulls her sister into a hug as they gaze out into the yard where they played as girls. "You need to talk to him, Nan. Your imagination is going to destroy you."

x

Her least favorite part of flying is landing. What Peggy likes the most is takeoff – the increasing speed of the plane down the runway, the change in air pressure that pushes her back against the seat, watching the world below get smaller and smaller. She likes it even better when she's in the cockpit with Ted, watching him man the controls.

It's the first time she's been his passenger and he hasn't explained everything to her, every bump and why he's pulling back on the yoke and what their altitude is. Peggy likes how that feels, what it says about the time she's spent with him and how much they've already shared.

She glances out the side window, looking down at the airport and houses. The higher they ascend, the smaller the buildings become, until she could hold them between her thumb and index finger, and then they aren't visible at all below the clouds. "Where are we going anyway?" Peggy asks, laughing as she shifts to face Ted.

"Portland. I used to fly to Maine all the time and I wanted to see the coast." He reaches inside his jacket for his sunglasses and they slip out of his grip. Peggy bends to retrieve them and slides them into place, tapping the bridge until it settles across his nose. She presses a quick kiss to his cheek before returning to her seat.

"You _live_ by the coast now," she teases, but the lilt in her tone betrays the sad look she and Ted exchange.

"It's not the same," he says. They don't indulge in the gloom of acknowledging their physical distance most days of the year. Ted happily announces, "The weather there is supposed to be clear. I want to take you to my favorite lighthouse."

Peggy smiles. "I've never been inside a lighthouse. I've never been to Maine."

He adjusts the flaps and lifts the plane higher, drawing a quick yelp from Peggy. "Then we better hurry," Ted says, and they both laugh.

x

"They don't have any convertibles left," Ted says, walking across the lot and dangling a set of keys.

Peggy shrugs. "That's okay." She fluffs the back of her hair. "I didn't bring a brush or a scarf."

Ted eyes her purse. It's bigger than what he's used to seeing her carry – the flat, rectangular bag without any kind of strap, or something so small it could only fit a few bills and a tube of lipstick – but not big enough for a sweater or shawl, and accordingly their first stop is at a general store to buy two Coca-Colas, a pack of chewing gum, and a sweater for Peggy.

"It's going to get cold by the water," he tells her when he plucks the navy garment off a hanger and folds it over her shoulder.

Peggy adds a candy bar to their purchases at the register. She asks the cashier for a pair of scissors to cut the tags from the sweater and Ted helps her put it on once they get back to the car.

They drive along the picturesque streets, passing diners and drug stores and auto repair shops. Ted rolls to a stop after they've been in the car for fifteen minutes. "What's this?" Peggy asks, looking out at the small, square building. She doesn't see a sign.

"It doesn't really have a name. I guess most people call it Clark's, because that's the last name of the family who owns it," Ted explains, and he gets out of the car and jogs around the front to open Peggy's door.

They hold hands to cross the small parking lot and Ted opens the door. The inside only has two tables and a counter to place an order. Peggy browses the chalkboard menu and tells the gray-haired woman behind the counter that she'd like a lobster roll, and then she says, "Wait, I'm sorry. Make that crab cakes."

"Make it two of each," Ted chimes in.

The lobster rolls are wrapped in foil and the crab cakes are served in small paper containers with a cup of dipping sauce, and everything is put onto a red plastic tray. Peggy heads for one of the circular tables but Ted redirects her to a door at the back, a door she assumed led to the kitchen but takes them onto a long, wide deck that overlooks the water.

Peggy chooses a picnic table near the railing. She is so enthralled by the view of the water and the jagged rocks and the lush greenery that Ted has finished half his food before Peggy peels the foil open around her lobster roll. "This is amazing," she says, taking her first bite.

"I agree," he says, gazing at her, reaching his hand across the table. His fingers slide up the length of her hand and his thumb draws a line back and forth across her wrist. "You've flown to Richmond, Middleborough, L.A., Philly. Where does this rank?"

Peggy casts another glance at the rocky coast and then back to Ted. The breeze ruffles his hair and the sun casts a tinge of pink on his skin and brightens his eyes. "It might be too early to tell. It will take a lot to make it better than L.A.," she says, her voice dropping to a low, flirtatious tone that makes Ted shift in his seat as they both think about swimming pools and bathing suits and the Biltmore.

x

Lydia takes the children for ice cream and Nan is grateful to be alone in the house. She stands on the staircase looking at the photographs on the wall, faded and discolored by time. The pictures toward the bottom are newer and brighter – the children born in the last fifteen years, Lydia's wedding to James and Nan's to Ted.

She touches the glass that covers the photograph of her and Ted. She can see her reflection in the frame and is overwhelmed by the difference, by the passage of time.

Nan removes the photograph from the wall and carries it with her to the window seat, stretching across the plush cushion. She has always considered herself a forward thinking woman. She abandoned a career for a marriage and a family, but Nan never saw it as a sacrifice. It was a choice.

She always prided herself on being that kind of woman, that kind of wife – someone who was confident in her decisions and didn't let the man in her life dictate everything that happened to them. That's what was so strange about the move to California. She wasn't consulted. It was the first time in her relationship with Ted that he decided something for her. Her opinion mattered very little. Nan didn't understand then why she was so eager to go along with it, but it's starting to make sense to her.

She had been feeling Ted slip away and she hoped a move like that would bring him back to her. That maybe he needed a change of scenery and a new experience before he could get back to himself. Nan understands that a part of her knew the root of his problem – the source of his brevity, his grief, his withdrawal – was something about New York. Now she fears it could be _someone_ in New York.

Nan has always known that Ted did and could develop friendships with other women, maybe even harbor a crush. She was always certain he wasn't the kind of man that would act on it. But she had also been certain he would never trade New York City for palm trees and beaches.

x

He has the day mapped out in his head, and there isn't enough time to do much more than take Peggy to Portland Head Light before they need to return to the airport. Ted doesn't want to feel rushed and worry over their borrowed time together. He decides to be resourceful and make the most of the short hours they have.

Ted stops at a payphone on the way to the lighthouse. He calls the airport to ask them to refuel the plane and expect him right at five o'clock. "Afraid that's not going to work, Mr. Chaough," he is told.

"Why is that?" Ted asks. "Something wrong with the plane?"

"No, no, not that. Weather in New York is only getting worse. Not letting any flights in or out."

Ted discusses the weather conditions and re-filing his flight plan for a mid-morning departure. He ends the call but remains in the booth. He glances at Peggy in the car, sees her peel down the wrapper of her chocolate bar. She takes a bite that ends up being too big for her mouth and her cheeks puff out as she chews. Ted dials Lydia's house and is taken back when Nan is the one to answer.

"Hello," he says. "How's your day going?"

"Oh, fine," Nan tells him. She sounds tired. "Lydia took the kids for ice cream."

"You didn't want any?"

Nan sighs. "Not today. You made it to Portland alright?"

"Yes, but I'm afraid I can't make it back to New York tonight." He repeats what he was told about the weather conditions."

"It has been raining all day," Nan confirms. "Maybe we'll just stay the night here with Lydia and the kids."

Ted asks her to hug the boys for him and he launches into a lengthier apology before realizing she's already hung up on him. He cradles the receiver and tilts his head back to peer up at the pristine blue sky and tufts of pure white clouds. He doesn't know how he can feel so incredible and so awfully guilty at the same time, but he does. Ted supposes that good or bad, the warring emotions are getting easier to live with.

He gets in the car and reaches out to wipe a smear of chocolate from the corner of Peggy's mouth. "You didn't have any plans for tonight, did you?" Ted asks.

She shakes her head, confused and curious.

"What about early in the morning?"

"No," Peggy says warily. "Why? What's going on?"

Ted tells her, "We can't fly back to New York until the morning, assuming the weather clears up enough."

Peggy looks out at the road lined with trees and the beautiful, rocky shore she can't see from the car but knows stretches for miles and miles. "What will we do with the extra time?" she asks.

He turns the key in the engine and his foot is heavy on the gas pedal. Ted peels out of the lot onto the road and says, "I have a few ideas."

x

He calls it a hotel but Peggy thinks it looks more like a house – a gorgeous three-story with stone exterior and a turret. She stays outside, looking toward Portland Head and the water and imagining the view from the top of the lighthouse.

"Peggy," he calls from the door. She turns around and sees him holding a room key and suddenly doesn't care if she never gets another glimpse of the coast.


	11. Chapter 11

**XI.**

Ted wakes with his nose pressed against Peggy's shoulder blade and his arm snug around her waist. He doesn't want to move but they fell asleep after placing a call to room service and he's pretty sure the fervent knock on the door is someone's fifth or sixth attempt to rouse the room's inhabitants. He eases his arm out from under the sheet that covers them both and rolls across the mattress. His bare feet hit the floor and Ted has to look under the bed to find his pants. He steps into them as he crosses the floor.

He opens the door just enough to see into the hallway. "I'm sorry," he apologizes to the young man standing with a cart of covered dishes. He feels for his wallet and removes a suitable tip for making him wait. "Thank you," Ted says, and he knows if he opens the door the kid will get an eyeful of Peggy in bed, so he adds, "You can just leave it here."

He waits for the boy to turn and walk toward the elevator before wheeling the cart into the room. He peeks under one lid but carefully sets it back down when he hears the sheets rustle. Ted looks up and Peggy has rolled onto her other side and the sheet has become tangled around her legs. He sits in the armchair at the side of the bed and recalls holding her hand in the elevator and down the hall and into the room hours earlier.

_She removed her sweater and tossed it on the nearest surface. She stepped out of her shoes and walked halfway across the room. Peggy unzipped her skirt and when it pooled around her ankles she kicked it to the side. She turned toward Ted and popped each button of her shirt open and shrugged her shoulders back, the garment slipping down her arms and landing softly on the carpet. She moved backward toward the foot of the bed as she unhooked her bra and shed it onto the floor. Ted followed the trail of Peggy's discarded clothes to where she sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back on her elbows._

Ted's eyes move from the peaceful repose of Peggy's face to how one arm is curled up near her chin and the other shoots straight across the bed, both cruelly covering her breasts. He gazes at the smooth skin of her stomach, the curve of her hip and the slight tuft of hair between her legs. He can't imagine how she managed to get the sheet between her knees, looped intricately around her legs, in the brief time he was out of the bed.

_They rolled once, twice, until they were laying side by side, Peggy's knee caught between his thighs. Ted's fingers drew lines from behind her knee up to her hip. Her kiss was slow and tender and he was content to follow the languid pace Peggy set, to explore and map out every curve. _

Peggy stirs, her eyes fluttering open. She smiles sleepily at Ted and he says, "Dinner has arrived."

She sits up and swings her legs over the edge of the bed. She stretches her arms above her head, working out the kinks in her neck, and gives Ted a generous view of her chest. Peggy unravels the sheet from around her legs and leaves it in a pile on the floor.

He leans back in the chair when she sits on his left thigh, her bare legs dangling between his. Ted's breath snags in his throat at the feel of her nipples pressed to his chest and the way she plants small, biting kisses along his jaw. But it's the way Peggy loops her arms around his neck and nestles her head into the hollow of his shoulder that really throws Ted. He brushes his knuckles up and down her back and rests his other hand on her knee and can't imagine never holding her that way again, never lounging together on a lazy weekend after making love.

Ted tightens his arm around her waist. "You could work out of Los Angeles," he whispers. "I can talk to the partners about it. We're growing into our own out there, Peggy, and there would be a lot of exciting accounts for you-"

Peggy lifts her head and presses one finger to his lips. "Let's not talk about that right now," she whispers. "Not yet."

He understands. They need to talk but it's not even dark outside and they can afford to put it off a bit longer, and before Ted can rationalize it further Peggy replaces her finger with her lips. He moans at the wet warmth of her tongue sliding against his. He rubs the palm of his hand further up her thigh. She shifts on his lap and surprises him by sliding down between his legs, her knees hitting the carpet.

Peggy unhooks the button of his pants and drags her thumb down and back up the zipper. She feels him tighten at the contact.

"Peggy," he sighs.

"Shh." She tugs the zipper down and yanks the pants down low on his hips.

Ted starts to say her name again, but then her mouth is warm and tight and wet sliding down the length of him. His head hits the back of the chair and he can only manage a satisfied moan.

x

By the time they remember the cart and the covered plates of food, the steak is cold and the bread is stale. They still sit down to eat, wearing identical robes from the closet.

Afterward, it is dark outside and bright in the room. Peggy opens the window. She inhales the clean smell of the chilly night air and the wildflowers growing below and listens to the water crash into the rocks. She thinks about what Ted said – _You could work out of Los Angeles. _She tries to ignore the way it makes her feel – awkward, a little homesick. It's not a thought she has entertained; she has never pictured herself living in the place where Ted sought refuge from her with his wife and children. "I think we should get up early," she says. "I want to go to the lighthouse, even if it's only for a few minutes."

Ted stands behind her and hugs one arm around her, his hand sliding under the soft cloth of the robe to feel her skin. He kisses her cheek. "We can do that."

She turns around and grips the robe where it lays open around his chest. Peggy stands on her tiptoes and kisses his chin, the corner of his mouth. "You better get some sleep. I can't pilot that plane back to New York."

He turns toward the bed. The blankets have all ended up on the floor and Peggy stops him from gathering them up and making the bed. She kneels on the mattress and crawls to one side, holding her hand out for him. Ted turns off the lights and they curl up on the center of the bed, her head on his chest, his hand on her hip.

x

The early morning light is pale, coloring the sky peach and butter yellow. Ted and Peggy stand at the edge of the grass, where it gives way to the craggy, steep rock that surrounds the Atlantic. It is a peaceful scene – birds chirping overhead, the soothing sound of the water, a boat moving slowly by in the distance.

Ted squeezes her hand and leads her around the property. They walk through the small museum attached to the lighthouse first and Peggy puts a brochure in her purse. They climb the spiral staircase as he relays stories of childhood visits. Peggy is winded and warm by the time they reach the open deck and she removes her sweater, tying it around her waist. She stands at the railing and enjoys the cool breeze against her bare arms and face.

They circle around the deck, taking in the view from every angle. Ted curls his fingers around the bar and when Peggy rests her hand over his, she feels the leather band of his wristwatch and is mindful of the schedule they must keep. She slides between him and the rail and folds her arms around him. "Thank you for bringing me here," she says.

Ted returns her embrace and presses a lingering kiss to the top of her head.

x

The drive away from Portland Head Light and to the airport is quiet. Peggy sits close to Ted, and every so often he moves one hand from the steering wheel to her knee and she kisses his cheek.

The conditions for flying are perfect. Peggy tries to focus on admiring the view but her mind is clouded by the questions that always creep into her happiness as a visit with Ted draws near its end. _When will I see him again? Is anything going to happen between now and then to change everything? Why do I always think it will be easier to say goodbye the next time?_

When the plane begins its descent she reaches across the seat to grip a handful of Ted's bomber jacket, not letting go until the wheels are rolling smoothly across the runway.

They exit the plane quietly, gathering what little they brought with them. Ted buys a soda for Peggy and she sits outside the hangar, sipping from the bottle while he tends to business in the terminal. She watches a mechanic slide out from underneath a small aircraft. He climbs to his feet and wipes grease down the front of his gray jumpsuit. She is distracting herself, idly thinking about what it must be like to have a job like that – something that gets your hands dirty, that sends you home at night with a distinct smell on your clothes and skin – when Ted emerges from the terminal.

The walk to his car is long and Peggy breaks the silence, saying, "I took the train to White Plains. I can take the train back."

Ted is expected at Lydia's and it will take him longer to get there if he drives Peggy to the city. "Are you sure?" he asks.

Peggy nods as she settles into the front seat. "I was planning on it."

x

He makes the drive to the train station but parks far away, on a quiet, tree-lined part of the street. The air inside the car is thick and troubled and Ted rolls the window down, but to no avail – he still can't breathe easily.

Peggy maneuvers on the seat to face him, curling one leg in front of her. "I think we're having an affair," she states. She wrinkles her nose. "Are we?"

Ted has been bracing himself for the conversation they need to have, but Peggy's question throws him. "What?" He turns the key, killing the engine.

"I never thought of us like that. That word has a lot of implications."

"Peggy…"

She sighs. "I guess that's what I was trying to avoid. An affair. I never wanted to have to keep you a secret. I never wanted to be a part of your life that is hidden and shameful. I don't know what you call seeing each other every few months and spending the other days in some kind of fog just waiting until the next trip… but…" Peggy wrings her hands on her lap. "After the Biltmore, I thought we could move forward."

"I don't know how to do that."

"I guess I don't either."

Ted looks at her. "Then what do we do?"

Peggy shakes her head. "I don't know, Ted. But we only have a few minutes to figure it out. You have to take your family back to California. And I don't want us to act like we're going to be good and stay away from one another and then get sent out to L.A. and do this all over again."

He grips the bottom of the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. "I'm in love with you," he says.

"That's not an answer." Peggy's voice is barely audible and she swings her legs in front of her, ready to slide across the seat and open the door.

Ted grabs her arm. He reaches around her, his hand on her hip, pinning her to the seat. He presses his forehead to hers and she tilts her chin to her chest, his kiss landing under her eye. He shifts on the seat, bumping the gear shift and steering wheel as he kisses her chest through the wrinkled fabric of her polka-dot shirt. He can smell the saltwater and the lavender soap from the hotel.

His lips and hands leave tremors of pleasure in their wake and Peggy starts to lose her sense of time and place and purpose. She thinks of how easy it would be to hike her skirt up and fuck away the reality of their situation, to let their bodies have the conversation neither of them wants to get through.

She clenches a fist and pushes against his chest. "Ted," she says firmly, loudly.

He moves back to his seat, leaning his head back. Ted covers his eyes with his arm as he catches his breath.

"We have to talk about this," Peggy says, buttoning her shirt and tucking it back into her skirt.

Ted tells her, "I can't let you go, Peggy. I was foolish to think I could move three thousand miles away and that would do the trick." He believed he had to sacrifice his own happiness and desires for his family but Ted has been so unhappy that he is destroying them all. "I can't up and move back to New York. The boys are in school. I'm running the office. I made this mess, I know that. I don't know how to fix _everything_ but I do know I have to tell Nan the truth."

Her sharp intake of breath is loud inside the small space of the front seat.

"I have to," he huffs.

Peggy scoots across the seat and opens the door. She hears Ted getting out on his side of the car and hears the stomp of his shoes as he circles around the front of the vehicle. She isn't running away – she feels like she has to be standing for the rest of the conversation.

"I have to tell her, Peggy. She knows _something_ is wrong. I have to tell her because I think pretending I'm happy is becoming far worse than anything else I've done to her."

Peggy leans against the side of the car and Ted stands in front of her. She shrugs. "Even if you do tell her and even if you _do _leave her, what does that solve, Ted? You said it yourself – you can't just leave Los Angeles."

He holds his hands over her shoulders. "I wasn't kidding last night. You could move out there. You can work from the West office."

Peggy winces. She doesn't see herself retaining the clout she has in New York – there are currently far less accounts, and she wants her next career move to be a promotion from Copy Chief to Creative Director, whether it's at SC&P or not. "I own an apartment in New York, Ted. It's where my life is. I'm not saying no, but..."

He leans forward, pressing down on her shoulders, looking into her eyes. "Don't give up on us, please," Ted pleads softly.

"I'm not, but it could take a long time for you to settle things with Nan and for me to be able to leave New York."

"I know. I know what I've set in motion, Peggy. I want to do right by you but I have to do right by my sons and I can't just toss Nan aside."

Peggy closes her eyes. She wants a resolution but the only one that doesn't leave them exactly where they have already been is to say _We have to stop and I can't ever see you again and this is over_. She presses her palms flat to his chest. "I love you. I want to live with you. I want to work with you. I want to be able to sit next to you at the dinner table and I want to wake up with you every morning. I'll never stop hoping for that kind of life, Ted. But I can't stop living the life I have right now while I wait for you to do right by everyone." She stops to kiss the corner of his mouth, a reassuring gesture to ease the pain of her words and what they imply for their future. "I loved everything about this weekend except knowing it was going to end."

Ted takes hold of both of her hands, holding them against his chest. "I'll come out to New York more often. You can visit L.A. whether it's for work or not. Sunkist would love to get you out there more, Peggy. We can find a way until…"

"Until what, Ted?"

"Nan's family is here in New York. The boys miss their cousins and their friends. We can find a way to come back, just not right away."

Peggy nods, unconvinced.

"Don't leave here angry, Peggy."

"I'm not angry."

"We can figure this out. Maybe not right here, right now." He pauses, pained by the differences between their current situation and the way it was when Peggy showed up at the airport the previous morning – how exciting, how charged with energy and possibility. He understands they can't build a life on weekend getaways every few months or turn every business trip into a hotel tryst, and Ted knows it's unfair to expect her to stay still while he finds a way to hold his family together and love Peggy properly.

She hears the whistle of a train arriving in the distance and looks over his shoulder, through the spread of trees, to see a corner of the station. "I should go," Peggy whispers.

Ted nods his reluctant agreement. "We'll talk soon. I promise. It might take a while, Peggy, but we're going to make this work."

"I'm going to give L.A. some serious thought," she tells him. "But there's no way I could move out there just to be your… your mistress." The word tastes bitter on her tongue.

Ted lets go of her hands to frame her face. He presses her back against the car and his kiss leaves both their mouths red and ravaged.

Peggy slips out from between him and the car. She holds onto her purse with both of her hands to keep from holding onto him. She doesn't say goodbye because she doesn't want that to be the last word exchanged between them. She thinks about riding along the coast with him and it's enough to help Peggy leave Ted with a smile on her face.

He leans against the car, hands shoved in his pockets, and watches her walk away. Peggy disappears around the corner but he can still hear the click of her shoes on the street. The sound gets softer and softer until it's not there at all and Ted doesn't think he's ever felt so alone.

x

The couple seated across from Peggy offers her a tissue shortly after she takes her seat on the train to Manhattan, and again a few minutes later when it is wrinkled and soaked and useless. Peggy is still holding onto the last of several tissues the woman passed over when she exits the train and hails a cab home.

She gets dropped off a few blocks away because she needs the walk. Her legs are cramped, her neck stiff. She is imagining the next few weeks – looking for a reason to go to L.A., waiting for Stan to vacate the office so she can lock the door and call Ted, wondering if Ted confessing to his wife is going to break him, wondering if he'll ever actually make the confession. Peggy stops on the sidewalk to blow her nose with what's left of the wrinkled tissue and catches sight of someone standing on her front stoop. The man, dressed in khaki pants and a collared, short-sleeve shirt, turns around and Peggy thinks _Of course. _

"Don," she calls out as he walks down the stairs to the sidewalk.

He looks one way and then the other, spotting Peggy as she walks toward him.

"Hello," he says.

"What are you doing here?" she asks.

"I tried you at the office but I guess you took a weekend off."

"I did," Peggy tells him solemnly.

"I wouldn't have just come by like this, but I couldn't find your number. If this is a bad time, I can get in touch with you later."

"A bad time for what?"

Don says, "To talk. I was hoping we could talk. Catch up."

Peggy looks at the crumpled tissue in her hand and knows her eyes are red-rimmed and her skin is chapped. "I've been… away. I need to clean up," she says. "I could meet you somewhere in thirty minutes?" She points across the street, where there is a tavern, an Italian restaurant, and a diner.

He notes the wrinkles in her shirt, the pallor of her skin. "If you're sure this is a good time?"

"I could use the distraction," Peggy says.

"Let's go to the diner."

Peggy nods. "I'll see you in thirty minutes."


	12. Chapter 12

**XII.**

Ted pulls up in front of the house and looks at his reflection in the rearview mirror. If asked, he'll attribute the dark circles under his eyes to an uncomfortable hotel bed and being put-out by the unexpected overnight stay. He'll lie until he and Nan are back in California and the time is right to tell the truth.

He expects to have to sit around the kitchen table with Nan and Lydia, telling them about his trip to Maine over coffee and pie. Ted is surprised to walk in the door and see the boys kneeling in the foyer, tying their shoes. Their overnight bags are stacked by the door. Nan has already said her goodbyes and Lydia is oddly quiet, barely returning the hug Ted gives her while they all make their way back out to the car.

"Are you boys hungry?" Ted asks as they get situated.

Thomas wants to sit up front with Ted so Nan buckles him in. She gets into the back and says, "We just had a big meal. Let's get to the hotel and pack up."

Thomas spots something on the floor and bends down to pick up the gold wrapper from Peggy's candy bar. "Dad! You didn't bring us any?"

Ted sees Nan in the rearview mirror, craning her neck to see what Thomas is holding. She presses her lips into a straight line and leans back, closing her eyes.

x

The diner is sparsely occupied. Peggy spots Don in a corner booth, smoking a cigarette and reading the paper. She's heard rumors about Don Draper and the twelve steps and wonders how many numbers he's ticking off by sitting down with her.

Peggy walks across the floor and her shadow falls across the newspaper spread open on the table. Don looks up and smiles. She can tell he's amused to see her in blue jeans and a shirt without a collar or large buttons or a bow. He folds the paper. He stands and kisses her cheek. "Please, have a seat," Don says.

She scoots into the booth. She sets her purse on the edge of the table. "Did you order anything yet?" Peggy asks.

"No, I was waiting for you."

Peggy bumps the table as she reaches for a menu. Her purse teeters on the edge and falls over on its side. A roll of mints, a pen, and the brochure from Portland Head Light fall on the floor. Don gets up and retrieves each item. He hands the mints and pen to Peggy but holds onto the pamphlet as he sits down. He reads the front out loud, "Welcome to Portland Head Light." He hands it back to her. "Looks like a nice place."

She swallows hard and the tension that tightens her features is noticeable. She sets the pamphlet on the seat, sliding it under her thigh so she can't see the glossy photographs on the front. Even though Peggy cried in the shower, forced herself to sob into the cold spray of water so it wouldn't sneak up on her the rest of the day, the brochure makes her think of Ted, of the words they exchanged and how it could be months or years before they can get on the same page and in the same city. Suddenly Don is handing her a napkin. She takes it from him and dabs under her eyes, blows her nose. "Thank you," she says.

"I won't ask why you're upset, Peggy, but if you want to tell me…"

"I need a chocolate milkshake," Peggy says, and Don waves the waitress over to the table. Peggy places her order and adds, "With a cheeseburger and fries."

Don asks for more coffee and says, "I'll just eat some of her food."

Peggy laughs and drops the tear-stained napkin on the table. "How have you been?" she asks.

"I'm doing well," he says. He leans back, slinging one arm across the edge of the blue vinyl seat. "Spending more time with the kids. Betty is busy with Henry's campaign. It's been nice having them the whole summer."

"Is Megan in California right now?"

He nods. "She says hello. She'd like to see you next time she's here."

"I'll give you my number," Peggy says.

"How's Sunkist going? When will I see it on TV?"

She smiles, but it's tainted. It's a look Don recognizes – pride over the work that is discolored by the way it ruined something personal, or by the way something personal is so heavily tangled in the work that it's almost too painful to enjoy. "Very soon," she tells him. "I just saw a rough cut of the commercials. They turned out well."

"I talked with Roger the other day," Don says.

"Oh? About coming back?"

He shakes his head. "No."

That one syllable is laden with sadness and regret and such a strange, quiet optimism that Peggy doesn't have to ask what they _did_ talk about. "Oh," she whispers. She knew his leave wasn't temporary, knew it because she's not dumb and because nobody around the office ever talks about what they'll do when Don comes back. Nobody talks about Don at all. Peggy is surprised how spoken confirmation that his exit is permanent is unsettling and makes her wistful and sorry.

The waitress sets the milkshake on the table. Don pushes it closer to Peggy and says, "Cheer up. You could get my job."

x

Nan falls asleep before takeoff. She sits with Thomas and Ted lets Edward have the window seat in their row. The stewardess offers cocktails and Ted asks for coffee instead. He doesn't want to numb himself; he needs to stay alert and he needs to think.

He imagines that after they get home, after the boys get to sleep in their own beds for a few nights, he'll talk to the family down the street about letting them stay over. Ted thinks it will be best not to make a production out of it with Nan – no pretense of a romantic dinner and quiet evening alone. Once the boys are out of the house, he'll sit down at the kitchen table with her.

Ted reconsiders, thinks maybe he should wait until the boys are in school and he can leave work early one day so he and Nan have the house to themselves.

Or he can talk to her at work, in the privacy of his office, where she might not want to make a scene. _Will she make a scene? _

Edward leans against Ted's side. The stewardess passes and Ted, feeling worn and overwhelmed catches her attention. "I changed my mind," he says, and she drops a cube of ice into the bottom of a glass.

x

Peggy shakes her head. "Lou Avery has your job."

"That's not what I hear."

The straw is pinched between her lips and she delays responding by drinking too much too fast. The cold of the thick shake pulses pain between her eyes. Peggy wipes a dribble of chocolate from her chin. "What did you hear?" she asks.

"He's hardly ever there. He's in contact with Duck on a regular basis about other jobs. He was a well-known name to attach to the agency to keep clients happy." Don folds his forearms on the table, leaning closer. "You're not interested?"

"I don't think… I don't-"

The food arrives and Don has to pick his arms up and lean back. The waitress puts a plate with a cheeseburger and fries in front of Peggy and a smaller plate of fries in front of Don. "So she doesn't have to share," she says, winking.

"Thank you," Don tells the woman. He waits until she turns and walks away to say, "You don't have to pretend you're not interested for my sake, Peggy."

"It's not that. I've essentially been doing your work for a very long time," she says, earning a grunt of laughter from Don, "but I don't think the partners have any intention of promoting me."

Don plucks a greasy French fry from his plate. "I think you're wrong," he says.

"Did Cooper say something?" Peggy asks, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Your name came up in the conversation," he says.

Peggy removes the top bun from her burger. She squirts rings of mustard on top of the melted cheese and pointedly leaves the Heinz untouched at the end of the table. She carefully arranges the tomato slices and the lettuce leaf before replacing the top bun. "Is this really what you wanted to talk to me about?" Peggy asks. "Vague hints about a promotion?"

Don adds more sugar to his coffee before taking a drink. "Peggy, I'm being bought out of the agency. I don't have a say in what they do but you could. That's what I wanted to tell you."

"I know you've been gone for a while, Don, but I've never had a say in wh-"

He interrupts her, "You could. How did you get your own office? Not the one you shared with a photo copier, but your first real office?"

Peggy pictures Freddy and the wet stain over his crotch that dripped all the way down his pants leg. "I asked for it." She holds the cheeseburger in both hands, lifting it from the plate. "But asking for things hasn't always worked out for me," she says before taking a big bite.

Don nods. "Look, Peggy. I don't know what's going to happen. But I felt it was important to tell you personally that I'm not coming back. I guess I wanted to clear the air between us so if you have the opportunity to replace me, you would know that I think you should. If that matters."

She swallows a bite too fast and has to take a drink. "Thank you."

"I know you believe you can do the job. Are you worried about Ted?"

"Ted is in Los Angeles."

"Yes, but he's one of two Creative Directors. Unless that changes, you would be working directly with him. From a distance, yes, but..." Don lets the rest of his thought hang in the air – the implication of conference calls, disagreeing on a pitch, sitting side by side at the occasional meeting, presenting a united front to clients and the agency.

Peggy turns the salt shaker upside-down, dousing her fries. She wouldn't be joining him in Los Angeles if she was appointed Creative Director of the East office. She's always wanted a future where they could work together, but not from different sides of the country. "If it ever happens – _if _– it would be okay."

"Really?" Don asks over the rim of his coffee mug.

Peggy's silence is their mutual agreement to accept that she's lying and he doesn't deserve to know the truth. They eat quietly for a few minutes, glancing out the window at the darkening sky. "Are you joining another agency?" Peggy asks.

"I don't know. I've taken a few meetings. I'm not in a hurry."

x

The ride home from the airport is quiet and smooth and lulls the boys into a deep sleep in the backseat. The right front tire bumps over the curb as Ted pulls into the driveway and Edward's head pops up from the seat. He yawns into his palm and then nudges Thomas. "We're here," Edward whispers.

Not _home_, Ted thinks as he maneuvers into the dark garage. Not _home _but _here_.

Edward unloads the bags from the trunk less as a way to be helpful and more out of eagerness to unpack his comics and be finished with the whole trip. Nan gives him the keys to the house and both of the boys make a mad dash for the front door.

"I'll get this," Ted says, pointing to the remaining bag.

"Why did we move?" Nan asks.

He has the last suitcase half out of the trunk. Ted lets go of the handle and it bounces the whole car as it drops back down. "What?"

"You came home one day and announced you were asked to head up a new branch of the agency. Of all the things you talked about, you never talked about a new branch. You never talked about Los Angeles. You talked about Don Draper and cranberry juice and Peggy Olson and cars but never moving." Nan shrugs, acknowledging the suddenness of her question and the likelihood that Ted has no satisfying answer. She reaches into the trunk and grabs the handle of her suitcase, hoisting it out. "I'll put on some coffee," she says, leaving him in the garage.

x

The plates have been cleared away and Peggy uses a spoon to scrape the remnants of her milkshake from the sides and bottom of the glass. She sees Don emerge from the restrooms and stop at the counter to pay the bill. She looks out in the direction of her apartment and pictures the unmade bed and the cat lounging on the windowsill and her weekend clothes in a pile where she stripped outside of the bathroom door.

"I guess it's getting late," Don says, standing at the edge of the table.

Peggy nods. She grabs her purse and scoots out of the booth. "Thanks for the food."

"You're welcome. Thanks for the company." He follows her out onto the sidewalk. Don doesn't ask if she wants him to walk her home and he doesn't offer; he matches her slow stride and his quiet presence is a comfort.

They come to a stop and Peggy stands on the first step leading to her door. "I would ask if you want to come inside for a drink, but my cat isn't very friendly and I haven't been home to clean up," she says.

"That's okay. I'm not drinking much these days."

Peggy stops herself from asking what he is doing if he's not drinking and he's not working, but she only smiles. She looks at his face lit by the moon – pale and smooth. She thinks how he really is a clean slate – rid of a job, rid of a vice. "I'm happy for you," she says.

"You don't have to say that."

"I'm not saying it to be saying, Don. You seem at peace."

"Getting there." He puts one hand on the railing. "I wouldn't blame you for hating me, Peggy. I wouldn't blame you for not giving a shit how I'm doing or how I feel."

She moves up one more step, putting herself equal to his height. "Well," she amends, "I'm only a little bit happy you're doing so well."

He smiles and it puts wrinkles around his eyes. He briefly squeezes her hand. "I'm truly sorry for the way I treated you before you left to work for CGC. I'm sorry I didn't do a better job of welcoming you back to the fold after the merger. I'm sorry I didn't talk to you about Ted instead of-"

Peggy lifts a hand. "I don't want to talk about that right now," she tells him.

Don nods and takes a step back. "I wanted you to know I think about all of that a lot. I often wonder if we could ever work together again."

He doesn't pose it as a question but Peggy searches for an answer. She closes her eyes and sees lipstick colors and the Mohawk logo and the Clio for Glo-Coat and his name on her ideas and the drink he poured after her first at bat on a campaign and waking up to his face in a cold hospital. She opens her eyes and finds that she can't say no but she can't say yes.

Don says, "I should be going. Sally has been doing a lot of babysitting this week."

"Yes, it's getting late," Peggy says. She feels in her purse for her keys. "Goodbye, Don."

Don smiles. "Goodnight, Peggy."

x

All that is left for him to do is close the trunk, shut the garage door, and walk into the house. Ted stretches his tasks out – stooping to pick up a piece of paper on the ground, waving to a neighbor. He stands at the threshold of the house and looks out at the street, at the row of attractive houses and well-manicured lawns and towering trees. It's a pleasant, calm scene but he closes his eyes to it, imagines something different in its place – skyscrapers, honking horns overlapping voices, concrete.

Ted turns to the door and steps into the house. He decides he'll retreat to the den to prep himself for returning to the office, knowing he'll spend the time deciding how to come clean to Nan.

She appears around the corner, barefoot and holding two mugs. "Coffee is ready," she says.

Ted follows her to the kitchen. He peeks into the other room; the television is turned off. "Where are the kids?"

"Upstairs."

He watches her pour the coffee. "I'll take mine to the den," Ted says.

"Can we sit outside?" Nan asks, already moving toward the sliding glass door.

Ted nods and follows her out onto the back patio. "Are you going to-"

"I think I already know the answer to my question," Nan interrupts, ignoring whatever small talk he was going to attempt. She sets her coffee down on the table. "Why we moved? Why we left New York?" She pauses between each thought, hoping Ted will speak up, that he will fill in the blanks before she has to. "I don't think it was only about the agency."

Ted puts his coffee down. He looks at the two mugs on the table, matching wisps of steam rising up into the dark. They are an accessory to the moment, one of the small details he'll remember about the night they came back from New York and he was honest with Nan for the first time in months. He looks up at the bedroom windows at the precise moment the lights get turned out. Ted hears the spray of the neighbor's sprinkler hit the fence.

"You're right," he says to Nan. "There's something I need to tell you."


	13. Chapter 13

**XIII.**

Nan turns one of the patio chairs toward the house and sits down. Ted stands with his hands shoved in his pockets. He looks at the coffee mugs on the table. The last thing he wants is warm, bitter coffee but he wishes the mug was in his hand so he could drink as a stalling tactic.

"Ted? What do you need to tell me?" Nan prompts him.

"You were right," Ted says. "Moving here wasn't only about the agency. Don Draper was supposed to head up the branch but I…" Ted pauses, thinking the right word to use is _begged_. He clears his throat and goes on, "…volunteered to go in his place. I felt like it was the best way to keep our family intact."

Nan's eyes knit closer together. She shifts in her chair. Her bottom lip trembles and she sucks it under her teeth.

"I lied when I told you that I'd been asked to move."

She looks down at her bare feet on the concrete and then sharply up at Ted. "You said you volunteered to move out here to keep our family intact? I didn't know we were broken, Ted."

He presses the heel of his hand between his eyes, pushing against the ache that pulses there. Ted thinks about all the lectures he received about his work hours, all of the dinners he missed, and the times the boys were already asleep when he finally arrived home. "You were unhappy with how much I was working for a long time. We were spending a lot of time apart."

"And you think that was _breaking_ us?" Nan's hands move to the arm rests.

Ted shakes his head. "No, no… But there were cracks in the foundation, Nan. You were right. I was spending more time at work than I was at home. I liked being there."

Nan squeezes her fingers around the arms of the chair. She hoists herself up. "Why?"

He is aware of the neighbor's sprinkler – the pattern of the spray hitting the tall privacy fence – and lowers his voice in case anyone is out in the yard. "I became… I developed feelings for someone at work," Ted says, and he feels like the words are being unlocked somewhere deep in his chest and spilling out in a way that is both painful and a relief.

"Peggy Olson?"

Ted flinches. He nods. "Yes."

Nan exhales a sharp breath. "I suppose I can see how that would happen. Instead of talking to me about it, you decided we should run away to Los Angeles?"

He blinks. If he says nothing else, it seems Nan will believe Ted's crush on his young, female protégée never escalated beyond professional admiration and innocent attraction.

"Is that why you've been so glum all this time? You lied and-"

"No," Ted interrupts. He shakes his head. "It's more complicated than that."

The expression on Nan's face changes and it's so rapid and grave that Ted reels back. Her look of hope and relief shifts and her face becomes hard angles of sadness and anger. He doesn't know he's confirming every horrible suspicion Nan has been entertaining.

"Peggy was here, in L.A. For work," Ted explains. "A few months ago."

Nan drops her chin to her chest.

"And I saw her in New York." He looks beyond her, out to the edge of the lawn, where it's too dark to tell exactly where the yard ends. "She was with me in Portland."

The backs of Nan's legs are pressed against the edge of the chair. She bends her knees, and it's not obvious if she meant to sit or if the seat breaks her fall.

"I moved us out here because I didn't want to ruin our family. I knew I had an obligation to hold us all together and I was afraid I couldn't do that if we stayed in New York."

Nan looks up at him with bleary eyes. "Are you in love with her?"

Ted bows his head. The noise of crickets and the sprinkler and a distant car horn fill the silence between Ted and Nan. It's a cool evening but he tugs on the collar of his shirt, feeling hit spread from his neck down his back, sweat pricking his skin.

"You've been… you've… slept with her?" she asks. Ted holds his breath and his long silence is answer enough. "Before we moved?" she asks, and then she shakes her head and says, "Don't tell me."

"Nan, I'm so sorry. I should have talked to you a long time ago. I feel horrible for the way I've hurt you. I feel-"

The chair legs scrape the concrete as Nan stands on shaky legs. She takes a step forward, walking past him toward the door.

"I want to explain everything to you," he calls out.

She slides the door open and turns to look at him. "I don't care what you want right now, Ted. That was enough for tonight."

He watches her step inside the house and shut the door. He sees Nan flip the switch on the wall, the kitchen darkening. Ted slumps down in the chair she vacated and stares into the dark house.

x

In the middle of the night Ted decided the floor would be more comfortable than the sofa. It's a decision he regrets when he wakes with his cheek pressed to the rough carpet and his arm curled around a throw pillow. He presses his knuckles into the floor and lifts himself up.

Ted opens the curtains and the room is brightened by the first hints of sunlight. He rearranges the throw pillows on the couch and folds the afghan into a neat square, erasing any sign that he didn't sleep in the bedroom with Nan.

He makes his way to the kitchen, tilting his head side to side to work out the kinks in his neck. He is arching his back, his face pained, when Nan appears in the doorway. Ted straightens his spine and offers a meek greeting. "Hello."

Nan finishes tying her robe. She opens a cabinet and removes a can of coffee.

"Do you think we should send the boys to a neighbor's house tonight? So we can talk?" Ted asks.

She pours two uneven scoops of grounds into a filter. She measures the water. The sounds of her morning ritual – fetching the pans to make scrambled eggs for the boys, setting plates and glasses on the table – are magnified in the otherwise silent, tense room.

Ted assumes he's being ignored and his bare feet pad across the cold tiles.

"I don't know," Nan says.

He nods and continues out of the room. Ted climbs the stairs and makes his way to the bedroom. It doesn't look like Nan slept there either; the covers are pulled tightly across the mattress. He removes a clean suit from the closet and places it on the bed, careful not to wrinkle the bedspread.

Ted grabs a towel and heads for the bathroom. He sheds his clothes in a pile on the floor and runs the water. He stands under the lukewarm spray, adjusting the temperature until he's caught in cloud of steam. Ted leans into the water and lets it sluice down his back. He plants the palms of his hands on the shower wall and a strangled sob he didn't know was trapped in his throat escapes.

x

Peggy has been in the office for an hour before anyone else arrives and even then it's the cleaning crew. She leaves her office to allow a young woman to vacuum. She carries her purse to the restroom and stands in front of the mirror. Peggy combs her fingers through her hair. She barely slept, her brain buzzing with thoughts of Los Angeles and filling Don's shoes and what it would be like not to have any obstacles between her and Ted. Purple blooms under Peggy's eyes and she rummages in her purse for foundation. She dabs the liquid along the delicate skin with the pad of her pinky finger.

The door pops open and Joan's reflection appears in the mirror. "You're here early," she says to Peggy.

"I was going to say the same thing to you." Peggy pats at the foundation until it masks the dark circles. She washes her hands as Joan settles in at the next sink to freshen her lipstick. "Early meeting?" Peggy asks.

Joan nods. She notices a stain on the collar of her blouse and reaches for a paper towel. The dispenser is empty. Peggy grabs one from her side and hands it to Joan. "Thank you. Kevin is in a phase where he'd rather throw his food than eat it."

Peggy smiles. "Is Roger here?" she asks.

"I don't know, Peggy. I just arrived." Joan wets the towel and presses it lightly to her shirt. "Caroline will be able to tell you Roger's schedule."

"Of course," Peggy says. She follows behind Joan as they exit into the hallway. It's already brighter and noisier and Peggy wonders how much time she spent absently staring at her reflection before Joan walked in.

The two of them fall into step side by side toward the staircase. "Did you have a nice weekend?" Joan asks.

Peggy scratches an itch at her temple. She thinks about Ted and the lighthouse and Don and the diner. She feels herself try to smile and the way Joan looks at her, Peggy knows the set of her lips and the look in her eyes betrays whatever generic response she might give.

"Have a good day, Peggy," Joan says.

She walks away and leaves Peggy with a view into Lou Avery's office. Peggy advances but she's stopped from peeking inside by the sound of her name being called from behind her. She turns to see Stan, a paper cup of coffee in one hand and a stack of boards in the other.

x

Ted arrives at the office later than usual and pretends not to hear the first person who asks him how the trip to New York went. He stops at Moira's desk and is grateful when she says there are no meetings scheduled for the day.

"Did you have a good time in New York?" she asks.

Her cheerful tone is grating and Ted winces. "Yes," he says. He quickly tells her, "Please hold any calls until after noon." Ted opens the door to his office and then backtracks. He revises his instruction, telling Moira, "Unless it's Nan. Or anyone from the New York office."

He settles at his desk, staring with contempt at a stack of mail and folders and memos. He clutches the back of his neck and presses his fingers into the aching muscles. Ted looks across the room at the sofa. He can't imagine becoming the kind of man who has to sleep in his office.

His hand hovers above the phone. Now that he's started coming clean to Nan, he doesn't want to stop. He wants to purge himself of all the lies and find out what the next step is. He buzzes Moira for an outside line and dials home, but it only rings and rings.

x

Peggy intended to spend her evening at home polishing off a bottle of merlot and mindlessly staring at the television, possibly making the bed so that when she climbed into it at night she would do so feeling somewhat accomplished and put-together. But she's reluctantly revised her plans to include a large pepperoni pizza, the recently resurrected Fleischmann's account, and Stan Rizzo.

"Why did you make so many trips to the second floor today?" Stan asks around a mouthful of melted cheese and crust.

Peggy spent a good portion of the day going up the stairs and loitering around the places Roger Sterling frequents (outside Joan's office, wherever there is alcohol or a short skirt). "I need to talk to Ken," she lies. She thought she would want to tell Stan about her impromptu dinner with Don the night before and his odd encouragement about taking over his position, but she's kept quiet on the topic all day.

Stan moves the pizza box from the middle of the table to the very edge, revealing his sketchpad and loose pieces of paper. He wipes his greasy fingers on a napkin and tosses it on the floor. He tugs the table closer to him and taps his pencil on the blank page. "Help me out here," he says, snapping his fingers. "We need at least one new idea."

She slides from her chair onto the floor, sitting with her legs curled to the side. She looks at Stan's discarded drawings from throughout the day – lots of cows and milk jugs and stacks of toast with dripping pats of margarine. Peggy reaches across the table to sweep some of the pages toward her. In the middle of the actual work are crude drawings thought up for the sole purpose of offending Ginsberg and a page with random sketches of cigarette packs, a naked woman's torso, and palm trees.

"Why did you want to leave New York?" Peggy asks.

Stan draws a line from one corner of the page to the other. He drops the pencil and it rolls across the table and onto the floor. "What? What does that have to do with-"

"Other than women in bikinis, why did you want to live in Los Angeles? Didn't you think you'd miss New York?"

He grabs the beer bottle sweating a ring of water onto a wrinkled piece of paper. Stan guzzles the last of the drink. "Sure, I guess. Yeah. My family is here. But I saw it as an opportunity for change." He sighs and his eyes narrow and Peggy can see that she's getting him to think about something he's not let himself dwell on. Something he's not resolved within himself yet. "I thought I could recreate myself or some shit like that."

Peggy takes a swig from her own drink – watered down whiskey, the ice cubes long melted into the amber liquid.

"Why are you asking about that?" Stan asks.

She shrugs. She takes a breath, holding it in while she formulates a response that doesn't involve confessing how she's been seeing Ted and that moving to L.A. is on the table and that she's been trying to get time with Roger to broach the subject of Don's permanent vacancy.

There is a knock on the door and Phyllis peeks inside the room. "Excuse me," she says to Peggy, "but you have a call holding on line one. And I was hoping to call it a night?"

"Of course," Peggy says, climbing to her feet. "Goodnight, Phyllis." She circles around her desk and picks up the phone, sounding oddly cheerful as she says, "Hello, this is Peggy Olson."

"Hello, Ms. Olson. I had a feeling you would still be there."

Peggy smiles and looks at Stan as he leans forward. She speaks into the receiver, "Could you please hold?" She points her eyes at Stan and nods at the door. "Let's take a break," she whispers. "I have to take this. Alone."

He holds up his empty beer bottle and says, "I need more of this anyway. Want something?"

She shakes her head. Peggy waits until the door clicks shut to sit down behind her desk. She puts the phone to her ear and says, "Sorry, Ted. Stan and I are working on Fleischmann's."

"How's that going?" he asks.

"Not well. They want something fresh but we keep circling back to the old ideas."

Ted asks about the executives and how the meetings have been going. He makes a suggestion for her to pass onto Ken.

"Thank you," Peggy says, "but I'm guessing you didn't call to talk about work?" She makes an effort to sound flirtatious, to avoid the dour mood of their last few hours together.

He laughs and she tries to picture him alone in his office, the sunset sparkling on the buildings outside his window. "No, I didn't," Ted tells her. "I miss you."

"You just saw me," she whispers, absently fingering the buttons on her blouse.

"It doesn't matter."

Peggy drops her hand onto the top of the desk, busying herself with putting loose paper clips back into a drawer. "How's your first day back at the office been?" she asks.

"Busy. It was… Peggy, I told Nan."

She lets out a breath. "Oh. I didn't expect you to say that."

"I know. I didn't expect it to happen so soon, but it did. Nan asked me about the move and I couldn't tell another lie. She's known something was wrong for a while, Peggy."

"Are you okay?" she asks.

Ted is quiet for a moment (he smiles and for a beat he can't take a breath, overcome by the concern in her voice and the longing to hold her hand, feel her lips on his cheek). "I think so," he says. "We still have a lot to say to each other, but I think Nan needs some time to process everything. The boys don't know anything and anticipating that… it kills me, Peggy."

"I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry. But, thank you."

The door squeaks open. Peggy turns her chair in the opposite direction to wipe a tear that slips from the corner of her eye down her cheek. "Well, thank you for the call, sir. Please call back when you know more," Peggy says, swinging back around to face Stan as he plops back down on the couch with a cold bottle of beer.

"I guess Stan is back?" Ted asks.

"Yes, that's right."

"I'll call you later." He pauses. "I love you, Peggy."

"Me too. Goodnight." She hangs up and stands from the chair. She walks back to the table and kneels on the floor.

Stan eyes her warily. "Who was that?"

"Not that it's any of your business," Peggy says, "but it was a realtor."

"I thought you were staying in your place?"

Peggy looks down at the doodle of palm trees and says, "Nothing has been decided yet."


	14. Chapter 14

**XIV. **

Ted arrives home from work and Nan is in the kitchen chopping carrots and potatoes. She says, "The boys will be home in ten minutes," without looking at him. He listens to the rhythm of the blade hitting the cutting board. He notices a stack of plates and utensils on the table and arranges them at each seat.

"When she was here? Did you see her outside of the office?" Nan asks.

He finishes placing a knife next to a fork at the last place setting. He recalls finding Peggy at the hotel pool and later peeling a wet swimsuit away from her body. "Yes," Ted says. He waits for the next question but Nan turns back to the chopping board, dumping sliced carrots into a bowl.

It goes on like that for several more days – random questions posed to Ted when the children are out of the room, the two of them putting on a show for the benefit of their sons. His days are divided into work and home – one active and steady, the other slow and strained.

"Has she been out to California more than once?" Nan asks late one night when Ted is sneaking an extra pillow down to the sofa.

Nan is carrying groceries in from the car and as she passes a heavy bag to Ted she whispers, "Was she ever in our home? In New York?"

After days of Ted answering with mostly a simple yes or no, Nan has enough pieces to put the puzzle together. She looks back on moments that happened long before the move, looks back with the clarity of having the truth. Ted being late for dinner is no longer a matter of him working too much – it's Ted wanting to spend a few extra minutes in Peggy's presence under the guise of having work to do.

x

It's a Friday when Ted walks into the house and can tell right away that the boys are gone. The house is silent and stuffy. He wants to open windows and let the house breathe. He loosens the tie around his neck and sheds his jacket on the way to the kitchen.

The scene before him is not unexpected. Nan is seated at the table, one glass of water on the placemat in front of her. "How was your day?" she asks.

Ted folds his jacket over the back of a chair. His tongue feels too thick for his mouth and he's grateful when Nan pushes the glass of water toward him. He takes a generous sip from it and says, "Busy. Long day." Ted sets the glass down and peers through the doorway into the other room. "Where are the boys?"

"Down the street."

He takes a seat across from Nan. "How was your day?"

"Ted," she says, "I've spent the last several days being very angry and hurt. I've spent a lot of time putting together what happened."

"I told you, Nan, I can tell you every-"

Her hand darts across the table, her palm flat on the surface. "I don't need to know every little detail. I know enough. I need some time to make sense of everything that's happened. I think you should spend some time away from the house."

Ted briefly squeezes his eyes shut. He scoots closer to the table, resting his forearm across the placemat. "What will we tell Ed and Tommy?"

"As much of the truth as they should know." She looks down, her resolve fading. Nan shrugs and says, "That's the part I'm not so sure of, Ted."

He nods. "We should talk about that while they're out of the house, Nan."

"Not right now. I can't right now." Nan stands up and carries the glass to the sink. She dumps the lukewarm water and lets the faucet run, refilling it with colder water. She turns back to Ted and asks, "Do you know of a place you can stay for a few days?"

x

"Have you stayed with us before, sir?"

Ted glances around The Biltmore's lobby. He turns back to the front desk clerk and says, "Yes, I have."

The room key feels cold and heavy in Ted's palm. He carries his work briefcase to the elevator and the bellhop follows behind him with a rolling cart of the rest of Ted's luggage.

"Enjoy your stay with us," the young man says after unloading two small suitcases in the suite.

Ted locks the door and surveys the room. He slips out of his shoes and pads across the carpet to the window. He's glad to know he has a view of the pool. It makes him think of Peggy and beads of water glistening on her skin. If he has to stay long enough to bring the boys for visits he can use the pool as a selling point.

He lifts his luggage onto the bed. Ted intends to unpack but part of him doesn't want to put any clothes away in the drawers. He wants the freedom to love Peggy and to be with her, but he hates the idea of what has to happen to get there – hurting his sons, continuing to break Nan's heart, living in a hotel.

Ted sits on the edge of the bed. Nan didn't want to discuss the state of their marriage or his betrayal or what is going to happen after she has her time away from him, but Ted needs to talk. He drags the phone to the corner of the nightstand. He cradles the receiver between his ear and shoulder and tells the operator he needs to make a long distance call.

He tries her apartment first because it's already close to midnight in New York, and when there's no answer Ted calls her direct line at the office. He's met with ring after ring but he doesn't hang up, not until the line disconnects him.

x

"Whose birthday is it?" Peggy asks for the third time in less than three hours. She's trying to be more of a team player, trying to put her face out in the professional world more, and it seemed like a good idea to accept an invitation to a birthday party with a guest list that included most of SC&P and partners in almost every major East coast advertising agency. She couldn't get Stan to go and so Peggy finds herself at a table in a posh restaurant with Ken and Joan.

"Martin Beers," Joan whispers through gritted teeth.

Peggy knows the rest – he's the son of a client they've had their eye on for years and he's being groomed to replace so-and-so as a marketing executive. A waiter approaches the table with a tray of full champagne flutes and Peggy reaches out.

Joan stands from her seat, putting herself between the champagne and Peggy. "I have a babysitter to relieve," she says. "Peggy, would you like a ride home?"

"No, thanks," Peggy says after a beat.

"I should get home," Ken adds. He looks at Peggy and the empty glasses around her. "Sure you don't want a ride?"

Peggy shakes her head and says goodnight. They depart from the table and she squints through the haze of smoke, wanting to track down the waiter with the drinks. She realizes she's spent the entire time seated at a table with cocktails and canapés and hasn't introduced herself to a single person as Peggy Olson, Copy Chief.

Reaching for the glass of water Joan left behind, Peggy drinks it quickly and dabs at her mouth with a napkin. She sneaks away to the ladies room to powder her face and brighten her smile with a few swipes of lipstick. She emerges back into the party and scans the room for a familiar face. She sees Roger Sterling trapping a young, buxom woman near the bar. She sees Harry Crane grab a stuffed mushroom from a serving platter and drop the filling down the front of his suit.

Peggy heads for the staircase that leads out of the banquet room and to the main floor where the restaurant's dining room is empty. She's halfway to the exit when she hears, "Peggy Olson. You've been avoiding me all night."

x

Peggy climbs the stairs to her building and unlocks the main door. She can hear the phone ringing inside her apartment but she's delayed getting to it – she drops her keys, fumbles with all of the extra locks. The buzzing ceases the moment Peggy slides across the floor and her hand darts for the receiver. She removes her coat and barely has time to throw it on the sofa before the phone rings again.

"Hello," Peggy answers, out of breath.

"Hi there."

She sits down, her purse still hanging from her shoulder. "Ted. Are you okay?"

His breath crackles across the line. "Yes. How are you? Were you working late?"

Peggy glances down at her dress, at the silky black fabric that rests just above her knee, the hint of her slip underneath. Her purse strap slips down around her elbow and she untangles herself from it. "No," she says. "There was this party. A birthday party. Everyone from the office went."

"Who had a birthday?"

She wrinkles her nose. Peggy can see Joan roll her eyes and lean sideways to whisper the name. "Mmm… Martin someone. Martin…"

"Beers?" Ted guesses.

"Yes! Martin Beers."

Ted laughs and asks, "Did you have a good time?"

"Not really," Peggy says. She reaches into her purse and removes the business card that was given to her at the end of the evening. "Are you calling from the office?"

"I'm calling from the Biltmore, Peggy."

She swallows. "Oh."

Ted describes the last several days with Nan –the questions and the answers, the uncertain agreement that was reached. He doesn't let Peggy apologize whenever the words _I'm sorry_ start to form on her tongue. He says he's okay and he'll continue to be okay and he asks her, "Have you been thinking about California?"

Peggy says, "Yes," but it's so quiet that she has to clear her throat and say it again for him to hear.

"The Sunkist commercial will be ready to premiere by Thanksgiving. I think you should come out here to celebrate with the rest of the team," Ted says. "See more of the city." He waits and then prompts her, "Peggy? Are you still there?"

"I'd like that."

Ted asks about the Fleischmann campaign and she asks what his suite is like. Peggy kicks her heels onto the floor and swings her legs up onto the couch, wrinkling her dress as she settles against the cushions. The cat wanders across the room and meows at her from under the coffee table.

"Ted? Have you heard anything about whether or not Lou Avery is staying?" Peggy asks.

He says, "No. No, that hasn't come up during any calls."

"Do you know who Russell McAdams is?" Peggy asks.

Ted is quiet for a beat. "McAdams? He's Grey's guy in London, I think."

Peggy is mostly quiet while Ted talks about a few potential new accounts for the West team. She hides a yawn and then tells him, "It's getting late. I should go."

"Right. I don't want to keep you."

Peggy says goodnight and hangs up the phone. She sees something fall from her lap to the floor and bends to pick up the business card. Her thumb traces along the name etched in glossy black letters across on the center of the small rectangle – Herman Phillips.

"_Peggy Olson. You've been avoiding me all night."_

_The voice startles her and Peggy bites down painfully on her tongue. She winces and regrets the last cocktail; her heels are suddenly too high and she teeters closer to the door, unable to move fast enough to pretend like she doesn't hear him. _

"_Let me buy you a drink." _

_Peggy turns around and sees Duck climb the last few steps. He gestures to the empty bar. _

"_I'm having coffee," he says. "At least sit down and have a cup of coffee with me." _

_She relaxes her hunched shoulders and says, "Alright." _

_The two of them sit at a small table in the middle of the empty dining area. The waiter converses with Duck about the coffee and bringing cream and sugar and a slice of chocolate cake, and Peggy uses that time to observe the man. Duck has more threads of gray in his hair and less wrinkles around his eyes. His voice is clear and sharp. _

"_You've been doing well, I hear," Duck says once they are alone. "Is that true?"_

_Peggy nods. She tells him about her apartment –leaving out the details about rats and perpetually intoxicated tenants. She mentions Sunkist and Avon and for the first time that evening says the words, "I'm the Copy Chief." _

_The smell of the coffee sobers Peggy and instead of having to force herself to drink it, she craves it. She accepts the waiter's offer for a refill and savors the warm liquid sliding down her throat. _

_After a few minutes of small talk, Duck removes something from his pocket and slides it across the table._

_Peggy picks up the business card and then quickly hands it back to him. _

"_You should keep that," Duck says. "I've helped a lot of people get jobs, Peggy."_

"_I have a job."_

"_Better jobs." _

_Peggy sets the card on the table by her purse. "Are you in the process of helping Lou Avery?"_

"_I already helped him."_

_She rolls her eyes. "I don't think he's staying. I think we need a new Creative Director for the New York office."_

_Duck leans forward. He glances back toward the stairs before locking eyes with Peggy. "Just between you and me, Russell McAdams all but has his name on the door."_

_Peggy leans back with such force her chair rocks on its back legs. She steadies her seat and folds her hands on the table. _

"_What's the matter, Peewee?"_

"Don't _call me that," Peggy sneers. _

_Duck sighs. "I see. You were angling for a promotion. That surprises me."_

"_Why?"_

_Duck's eyes drift downward, to where the fabric of her dress has puckered around her chest and the lace of her slip shows. "I thought you might be… feeling a pull toward the west coast." _

_Peggy holds her breath. She attempts to look confused and starts to ask what he's implying when Duck goes on to say, "I think you'd be an ideal creative director, Peggy. That's why I want you to take my card and give me a call when you're ready to jump ship." _

_Peggy shakes her head. "What?"_

"_Did you take a look around tonight, Peggy? You're on a sinking ship. New agencies are cropping up all over the place. SC&P is stuck in the past. They're afraid to be bold." He gets up and pulls out the chair next to Peggy. He sits down and slings his arm across the back of her chair. "Do you know how often I get asked to find a talented, capable woman to head up top tier campaigns? A lot more often than you'd think. Do you know who is never going to make that request? Bert Cooper and Roger Sterling." _

_Peggy reaches for a glass of water on the table. The coffee taste in her mouth is suddenly too bitter. She takes a long drink. "I have to go," she says, leaning away from his arm, sliding off the seat. _

_Duck stands up. He picks her purse up from the table and slips his card inside before handing the bag to her. "It was good to see you, Peggy." _

Peggy carries the business card with her to the bedroom. She opens the top drawer of her nightstand and removes a paperback of Flannery O'Connor short stories. She opens to a random page in the middle and slips the card inside.

She shuts the drawer with her hip and reaches behind her back to wrestle with the zipper on her dress. The fabric loosens around Peggy's back. She bunches the dress around her hips and rolls the waistband of her nylons down. She sits on the edge of the bed and pushes the constricting pantyhose down her legs. Peggy imagines Ted in his suite at The Biltmore, going through the ritual of undressing alone – hanging his shirt in a big, bare closet and folding his pants into an empty drawer.

Peggy doesn't want to think Ted was lying about Lou Avery's status not coming up in partners meetings or not hearing about Russell McAdams stepping in, but she worries being in Los Angeles means he's out of the loop. She wouldn't put it past Roger or even Jim Cutler to hide things from Ted.

She hears Duck say _I thought you might be feeling a pull toward the west coast_. If he has any notion of Peggy's romance with Ted it must be the worst kept secret in advertising. She falls back on the mattress – her nylons hanging from one foot, dress bunched around her waist – and fears that she's probably gone as far as she can with SC&P as long as Ted is a partner.


	15. Chapter 15

**XV. **

The trees in Central Park are shedding orange and red leaves that crunch under Peggy's feet. She takes a deep breath and underneath the smell of the street vendor's hot cashews and peanuts she savors the crisp, clean air of early autumn.

Peggy is more aware of the passage of time than usual. She knows without looking at a calendar how many days it has been since she was in the same room with Ted (fifty-five). She knows how many more hours she has before boarding a plane to Los Angeles (one-hundred ninety-two) for the premiere of the Sunkist commercials. Since her reluctant conversation with Duck following so-and-so's birthday party, Peggy counts three ignored phone calls from him. She has spent two-hundred eighty-seven minutes watching three different movies with Don. She can tell he is surprised she's asked to meet him somewhere other than a theater.

"Sorry I'm late," he shouts, appearing at the opposite end of Bow Bridge from where Peggy stands.

She waves and meets him in the middle. The scruff that darkened Don's face the last time she saw him has grown into a thin, dark beard and it scratches Peggy's skin when he bends to kiss her cheek. "You're not late," she says.

They turn to the water and lean against the bridge. The fall colors are reflected on the lake and Peggy thinks that if she was an artist like Stan she would go home and paint it. She thinks that if she ever lives on the other side of the world, autumn in New York is the sight and smell she would (will?) miss the most.

Don asks about work and Peggy says, "I head out to L.A. in a week. The Sunkist commercial is airing then. They're having a party."

He nods and smiles. Folds his hands.

"Did you get the Folgers account?"

"Ginsberg is on that one."

Don's eyes narrow.

Peggy shrugs. She pulls the sleeves of her coat down over her hands. "It's colder out here than I thought," she says.

"Let's get coffee." Don rests his hand between her shoulders as Peggy pushes away from the bridge and falls into step beside him.

x

Throughout his life as a husband and father it's been common for Ted to say _I don't remember what it's like to live alone_. After weeks of calling The Biltmore home he not only remembers but feels like he's reliving his college years. The desk is cluttered with papers he's brought from work. He eats mostly junk – whatever doesn't have to be cooked or what is cooked by someone else. Ted is reminded of what it was like to return home for a long weekend or break between semesters; like his mother did at the family's home, the hotel maid comes into the room when he's gone and the trash disappears and the sheets are suddenly clean.

He doesn't dislike being taken care of by the hotel staff, but Ted misses the way he could close the door to his den but still hear the noise of home – the television in the background, the boys squabbling one minute and then amiably discussing a comic book the next, Nan gabbing with her sister over the phone. He could be by himself without being alone.

Ted crosses the floor to the window. He pulls the curtain aside and looks down at the empty pool. He wonders if it will be too chilly when Peggy visits for her to go swimming. If he squints he can almost see her wet footprints on the concrete.

His daydream is interrupted by the ringing of the phone. He answers quickly and smiles at the sound of Edward's voice saying, "Hi, dad. It's me."

"How are you, Eddie?" Ted asks.

"Fine." He pauses and then says, "Mom wants to know if you can pick us up after school on Friday instead of at the house."

Ted stretches the phone cord to remain close to the window. "Sure, that's fine. Is your mother there right now?"

"She's cooking."

Ted decides not to push. Nan hasn't been that interested in discussing the state of their marriage since he checked into The Biltmore. He intends to talk with her before Peggy's next visit and tells Edward, "Let her know that I'll call her later."

x

"This is good coffee," Peggy says, stirring an extra drop of cream into her cup.

Don nods his agreement. He removes his coat, folding it over Peggy's on the back of the extra chair at their table.

"I want to see _Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid_ again," she says. "The theater was so crowded last weekend. Those kids in the front were so loud."

Don pushes his mug aside and folds his forearms on the table. "Peggy, did you ask me to meet so we could talk about coffee and movies?"

She purses her lips and shakes her head. "No." Peggy takes a drink. She blows into the coffee and takes another drink. She sets the mug down and asks him, "What did people at work say about me and Ted? Did all of the partners know?"

He leans back. He glances at the window and then back to Peggy before taking in a ragged breath. "Peggy," he says, his tone cautious, "I didn't talk to anyone about you and Ted. But I didn't have to."

"I'm not trying to accuse you of anything, Don."

"Why are you bringing this up?"

Peggy knows the last time Don attempted to apologize for his behavior she wasn't ready to hear it. She covers the top of her mug when the waitress stops at the table with a pot of fresh coffee. The woman walks away and Peggy tells Don, "Someone who has no reason to know anything about me and Ted implied that he does know. I've worked so hard to convince everyone that I didn't get where I am because I was sleeping with you. Now I feel like I can't get anywhere else because everyone thinks… knows I'm sleeping with Ted."

His palms flat on the table, Don spreads his fingers. He shakes his head. "I didn't… I don't…"

"I'm not saying it's because of you, Don." She props her elbow on the table and pushes her fingers against the bridge of her nose. Peggy squeezes her eyes shut and the silence between them is heavy and long. She finally looks up and says, "I'm not being offered your job. Roger avoids me. Ginsberg gets put on more accounts. I don't even feel like being the copy chief has a lot of meaning these days. Ted can't suggest me for a promotion even if I could ask him to."

Don rolls the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. He catches the waitress's attention and asks for a glass of ice water.

"He wants me to move to Los Angeles," Peggy says.

It's obvious Don is taken aback. He had been convinced that Peggy and Ted were an illicit fling, that she was wasting herself on the man and that Ted was using her. He was shocked the day a stricken Ted came to him, begging to switch places in the move to the west, and Don is shaken every time he's reminded that Ted and Peggy were and are in love. "Are you going to?" he asks.

Peggy shrugs. She looks out the window at the cars speeding by, at the pedestrian traffic and the familiar storefronts. "You know Los Angeles. Can you see me living there?" she asks.

"Can you?"

"Why aren't you living there?"

Don answers, "My kids are here."

The waitress brings Don's water and asks if they want anything to eat. Peggy shakes her head but Don orders a slice of apple pie. "Make it two," Peggy says.

They talk more about movies and how quickly the holidays are approaching. The lights inside the diner become brighter as the light outside fades to a hazy gray. Don looks at his watch and digs money out of his wallet. "I have to be going," he says.

"Thanks for meeting me. Sorry I… I don't really know what I was trying to ask you, Don."

He smiles and briefly covers her hand where it rests on the table. He stands and puts his coat on. He holds Peggy's open and she slides her arms into the sleeves and fastens the middle two buttons. She turns to walk ahead of him when Don's fingers grasp her elbow and she spins back around to face him.

"I don't think you should give up on anything, Peggy."

"What do you mean?"

"Move to Los Angeles if that's what you want. Fight for a partnership at SC&P if that's what you want." He squeezes her elbow tightly before letting go. Don moves to the door and holds it open for her. They stand on the curb. "Want to share a cab?"

Peggy says, "I have a few errands around here."

Don turns to the street and hails a taxi. When one pulls up to the curb he opens the door and looks back at Peggy. "I'm sorry if I wasn't much help."

x

Ted turns into the driveway and kills the engine. He climbs out of the car and slides the keys into his pocket. He heads toward the house when he notices two small suitcases are on the porch. The front door opens and Thomas emerges, leaping over the bags. His feet skid across the concrete walkway and he comes to a stop in front of Ted. "Hi, dad," he says, breathless. "Can I sit in the front seat?"

"Sure," Ted says, thrown by the lack of ceremony to his taking the boys for the weekend.

The door pops open again and Edward steps outside. He stoops to pick up both pieces of luggage and heads to the car.

Nan appears in the doorway. She is careful not to step foot on the porch and she holds the door mostly closed. "You'll drop them off Sunday before church?" Nan asks.

Ted nods. "As we planned." He glances back at the car, shouts for the boys to settle when he sees them fighting for the front seat. "Maybe the boys can stay with a neighbor for a few hours after church? So we can talk?"

"We'll see," Nan says. "I have a lot to do that day, Ted."

x

Peggy only has to wait has to wait fifty-three more hours before boarding a plane to Los Angeles. She turns the lock on her office door and takes her purse to the couch. She sits down and removes a mess of loose papers. Peggy discards what she doesn't need, like a receipt and a gum wrapper, and finds the to-do list she needs to accomplish before departure.

She holds the paper in her hand and leans back on the sofa, one leg dangling off the side. She closes her eyes and thinks about the items she needs to cross off the list. The only thing she has any motivation to accomplish is shopping for a new outfit – something professional but sexy – to wear for the agency's Sunkist celebration.

The door bangs open and Peggy sits up. "What the hell, Stan? I had it locked!"

"That lock hasn't worked in weeks," he says around a mouthful of bagel. He kicks the door shut behind him. He sits in one of the chairs on the other side of the coffee table and picks up the mess Peggy made when she rifled through her purse. He sets the loose papers on the table, except for a business card. That he pinches between two fingers.

Peggy reaches out and snatches it back from him, but not before Stan says, "Herman Philips. That's Duck, right? Why do you have his card?"

She stuffs everything back into her purse and hides the bag on the floor. "Not that it's any of your business, but he says there are a lot of agencies seeking a female creative director." Peggy pauses to allow Stan to comment, but he only takes another bite of his bagel. She scoots to the edge of the cushion and lowers her voice. "He says the partners are bringing in someone to replace Don."

Stan stops chewing. His eyes narrow and he swallows. He wipes a hand across his mouth, crumbs falling from his beard to the front of his shirt. "To replace Avery?"

Peggy shakes her head.

"What the fuck?"

"That's pretty much what I said," Peggy tells him.

"Does that seal the deal for you?"

Peggy tilts her head. "Hmm?"

"Moving to California?"

"I don't know," Peggy says. "I don't know what kind of work I could do out there. I don't know if the partners would make it any easier for me to advance on the west coast."

Stan brushes crumbs from the artwork on the coffee table to the floor. He turns to a clean sheet of paper and his pencil pushes hard into the page. The faces he draws are made of sharp angles.

"I don't know if I see myself _living_ there," she says, thinking about what it means to say goodbye to daily life in New York.

Stan drops his pencil. He wipes the stains on his fingers on his pants, leaving behind streaks of the pencil's dark lead. "I don't know," Stan says.

"But I also don't know if I trust Duck," Peggy says.

Stan shrugs. "Maybe you shouldn't. I don't know, Peggy. Maybe I should take that card. Maybe I should move out to L.A. I'm getting sick of this shit." Stan rips his drawing in half and crumples the papers. "I need a beer. What do you say?" he asks, pointing over his shoulder at the door.

Peggy thinks about her to-do list and the empty suitcases in her apartment that need to be packed. She shakes her head and says, "No. I'm going home."

x

Peggy sets a folded stack of skirts and blouses on the bed. The cat jumps onto the mattress and climbs into the open suitcase. Peggy rolls her eyes and decides to use it as an excuse to take a break from packing.

She pulls her shirt over her head and tosses it in a pile of dirty clothes on the floor. Peggy flips the switch on the bathroom wall and reaches inside the shower to turn the water on when the phone rings. She turns the faucet the other way, wipes her wet hands on the nearest towel, and runs back into the bedroom.

"Hello?"

"Peggy, hi."

"Don. How are you?"

He says, "I'm fine. Are you busy?"

Peggy glances at the cat slumbering in the suitcase. "No."

x

She decides to brew coffee and Don is ringing the doorbell before Peggy can spoon the grounds into a filter. She leaves it on the counter to let him in.

"I'm about to make coffee," she says.

Don follows her into the small kitchen. He removes his coat and folds it over the back of a chair. "Thanks. That sounds great."

"Have a seat."

Don looks at the table and back to Peggy. "I feel like I'm interrupting something."

"No. It's okay. I was packing for my trip but I have plenty of time." Peggy checks on the coffee. It's dripping slowly into the pot. She pulls out a chair and sits down at the table.

Don remains standing. "You asked me if I could see you living in California. I can. But I also see you here. I wouldn't have given you my blessing to go after my old job if I didn't think you were capable of it, Peggy. I think Roger and those guys are making a terrible mistake."

"Don…"

He sighs. He yanks at the chair across from her. Don sits down, his knee brushing Peggy's as he settles on the chair. "I'm in a pretty good place right now, Peggy. I'm ready to get back to work. I have the money to start my own agency but I can't do it on my own. Will you help me?"


End file.
